THE  RIDER  OF  GOLDEN  BAR 


®Htlliam  $atter*on 


THE  OWNER  OF  THE  LAZY  D 

LYNCH  LAWYERS 

HIDDEN  TRAILS 

PARADISE  BEND 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  RANGE 

THE  RIDER  OF  GOLDEN  BAR 


The  girl  seized  his  stirrup  to  save  herself  from 
falling.     FRONTISPIECE.   See  page  55. 


THE   RIDER    OF 
GOLDEN  BAR 

" 

BY 
WILLIAM  PATTERSON  WHITE 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 

REMINGTON  SCHUYLER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1922 


Copyright,  1922, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published  January,  1923 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


TO 

MY  POINT  O*  WOODS  COUSINS 

LAURA,  CHARLOTTE,  JULIA,  AND 
DOROTHY 


M63747O 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  BILLY  WINGO i 

II  A  SAFE  MAN 13 

III  WHAT  SALLY  JANE  THOUGHT     ....  28 

IV  HAZEL  WALTON     . 37 

V  JACK  MURRAY  OBJECTS 66 

VI  CROSS-PURPOSES 86 

VII  RAPE'S   IDEA 93 

VIII  THE  NEW  BROOM  .     . 116 

IX  THE  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY 133 

X  A  SHORT  HORSE 139 

XI  THE  TRAPPERS 146 

XII  THE  TRAP 170 

XIII  OPEN  AND  SHUT .  182 

XIV  WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 201 

XV  THE  BEST-LAID  PLANS 214 

XVI  OBSCURING  THE  ISSUE  .......  229 

XVII  WHAT  HAZEL  THOUGHT 250 

XVIII  THE  BARE-HEADED  MAN 268 

XIX  THE  PERSISTENT  SUITOR  .      .     .     .      .     .  280 

XX  A  DISCOVERY 290 

XXI  THE  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  NIGHTMARE  .      .  298 

XXII  THE  HUNCH 319 

XXIII  THE  GUNFIGHTERS      .......  330 

XXIV  CONTRARIETIES 344 

XXV  JONESY'S  ULTIMATUM 356 

XXVI  THE  FOOL-KILLER 366 

XXVII  THE  LONG  DAY  CLOSES     ......  385 


THE  RIDER 
OF  GOLDEN  BAR 

CHAPTER  ONE 

BILLY  WINGO 

"  BUT  why  don't  you  do  something,  Bill?  "  demand- 
ed Sam  Prescott's  pretty  daughter. 

Bill  Wingo  looked  at  Miss  Prescott  in  injured  as- 
tonishment. "  Do  something?"  he  repeatd.  "  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  do  anything,"  she  denied  with 
unnecessary  emphasis.  "  Haven't  you  any  ambition?  " 

"  Plenty." 

"  Then  use  it,  for  Heaven's  sake !  " 

"  I  do.  Don't  I  ask  you  to  marry  me  every  time  I 
get  a  chance?  " 

"  That's  not  using  your  ambition.  That's  playing 
the  fool." 

"  Nice  opinion  of  yourself  you've  got,"  he  grinned. 

"  Never  mind.  You  make  me  tired,  Bill.  Here 
you've  got  a  little  claim  and  a  little  bunch  of  cows  — 
the  makings  of  a  ranch  if  you'd  only  work.  But  in- 
stead of  working  like  a  man  you  loaf  like  a  —  like 


2  The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Like  a  loafer,"  he  prompted. 

"  Exactly.  You'd  rather  hunt  and  fish  and  ride  the 
range  for  monthly  wages  when  you're  broke  than 
scratch  gravel  and  make  something  of  yourself.  You 
let  your  cows  run  with  the  T-Up-And-Down,  and  I'll 
bet  when  Tuckleton  had  his  spring  round-up  you 
weren't  even  on  the  job.  Were  you?  " 

"Well,  I  —  uh  —  I  was  busy,"   shamefacedly. 

"  Fishing  over  on  Jack's  Creek.  That's  how  busy 
you  were,  when  you  should  have  been  looking  after 
your  property." 

"  Oh,  Tuckleton's  boys  are  square.  Any  calves  they 
found  running  with  my  brand,  they'd  run  the  iron  on 
'em  all  right." 

"  They'd  run  the  iron  on  'em  all  right,"  she  repeated. 
"But  what  iron?" 

"  Why  —  mine.     Whose  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  candidly.  "  I'm  asking 
you." 

"  Shucks,  Sally  Jane,  those  boys  wouldn't  do  any- 
thing crooked.  Tuckleton  wouldn't  allow  it." 

"  Bill,  don't  you  ever  distrust  anybody?  " 

"  Not  until  I'm  certain  they're  crooked." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  lady  disgustedly.  "  After  you 
wake  up  and  find  your  hide,  together  with  the  rest  of 
your  worldly  possessions,  hanging  on  the  fence,  then 
and  not  till  then  do  you  come  alive  to  the  fact  that 
perhaps  all  was  not  right." 

"Well "began  Bill. 

"  Don't  you  see  by  that  time  it's  too  late?  "  inter- 
rupted the  lady. 

"  Aw,  I  dunno.     I  —  I  suppose  so." 


Billy  Wingo  3 

"  You  suppose  so,  do  you?  You  suppose  so.  Don't 
you  know,  my  innocent  William,  that  there  are  a  sight 
more  criminals  outside  of  jail  than  there  are  in?  " 

"  Why,  Sally  Jane !  "  said  the  innocent  William, 
scraping  a  fie-fie  forefinger  at  her.  "  Shame  on  you, 
shame  on  you,  you  wicked  girl.  I  am  surprised.  Such 
thoughts  in  a  young  maid's  mind.  No,  I  ain't  either. 
I  always  said  if  your  pa  sent  you  away  to  school  you'd 
lose  your  faith  in  human  nature.  He  did ;  and  you  did. 
And  now  look  at  you,  talking  just  like  a  district  at- 
torney. And  suspicious  —  I'd  tell  a  man !  " 

"  Oh,  darn !  "  wailed  Sally  Jane.     "  I  hate  a  fool !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  concurred  Bill  warmly.  "  Tell  a  feller 
who's  the  fool  you  hate  and  I'll  hate  him,  too.  One 
pair  of  haters  working  together  might  do  said  fool  a 
lot  of  good." 

"  Sometimes,  Bill,  my  fingers  simply  ache  to  smack 
your  long  and  silly  ears." 

He  nodded  soberly.  "  I  know.  I  often  have  the 
same  feeling  about  people.  But  don't  let  it  worry  you. 
It  don't  mean  anything." 

"  Bill,  can't  you  understand  that  I  like  you, 
and " 

"  Easily,"  he  grinned.  "  Of  course  you  like  me. 
So  do  lots  of  other  people.  It  comes  natural.  And 
that  is  another  thing  you  mustn't  let  worry  you,  Sally 
Jane.  Just  you  take  that  liking  for  me  and  tend  it  real 
careful.  Put  it  on  the  window-sill  between  the  pink 
geraniums  and  water  it  morning,  noon  and  night,  and 
by  and  by  that  li'l  liking  will  wax  strong  and  great  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  you  won't  be  able  to  do  with- 


4  The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

out  me.  You'll  have  to  marry  me,  I'm  afraid,  Sally 
Jane." 

"  I  will,  will  I?  And  you're  afraid,  are  you?  You 
big,  overgrown,  lazy  lummox!  I  wouldn't  marry  you 
ever." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,  but  you  needn't  stamp  your  foot 
at  me  anyway.  It  ain't  being  done  this  season.  Peo- 
ple slam  doors  instead.  I'm  sorry  there  isn't  a  door 
near  at  hand.  It  must  have  been  overlooked  when 
Linny's  Hill  was  made." 

"  Bill,  don't  fool.  This  is  not  any  joking  matter. 
This  come-day-go-day  attitude  of  yours  is  bad  business. 
It's  ruining  you,  really  it  is." 

"  Drink  and  the  devil,  huh?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  decent  enough  far  as  that  goes.  You 
never  have  been  beastly." 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,  for  this  good  opinion  of  your 
humble  servant." 

"  Shut  up !  I  mean  to  say  —  What  I'm  trying  to 
beat  into  your  thick  head,  you  simple  thing,  is  that  in 
this  world  you  don't  stand  still.  You  can't.  You 
either  go  ahead  or  you  slip  back.  And  —  you  aren't 
going  ahead." 

"If  not,  why  not,  huh?  I  know  you  mean  well, 
Sally  Jane,  and " 

"And  it's  none  of  my  business?  Oh,  I  know  you 
weren't  going  to  say  that  but  you  think  it.  You're 
quite  right,  Bill  —  but  can't  you  see  I'm  talking  for 
your  own  good?  " 

"  Sure,  yes.  My  pa  used  to  talk  just  like  that  before 
he'd  go  out  behind  the  corral  with  a  breeching-strap  in 
one  hand  and  my  ear  in  the  other.  I've  heard  him 


Billy  Wingo  5 

many's  the  time.  I  used  to  hurt  most  unpleasant  for 
two-three  days  after,  special  if  he'd  forget  which  end 
of  the  strap  carried  the  buckle.  Old  times,  old  times. 
Now,  I  take  it  you  were  never  licked,  Sally  Jane.  That 
was  a  mistake.  You  should  have  been —  What? 
You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  going  home?  And  we 
were  getting  along  so  nicely  too.  Well,  if  willful  must, 
she  must.  I'll  hold  your  horse  for  you.  Again  let 
me  offer  my  apologies  for  the  lack  of  a  door." 

He  sagged  down  on  his  heel  and  watched  her  ride 
away  along  the  side  of  Linny's  Hill. 

"  I've  often  heard  a  woman's  '  no  '  doesn't  mean 
what  it  says,"  he  muttered,  fishing  out  the  makings 
from  a  vest  pocket.  u  But  Sally  Jane  is  so  persistent 
with  it,  I  dunno.  I  wonder  if  I  really  love  her,  or  do  I 
only  think  I  do  because  I  can't  have  her?  I  suppose 
I'd  feel  worse'n  I  do  every  time  she  turns  me  down  if 
I  did.  Lord !  she  said,  I  said,  he  said,  and  may  Gawd 
have  mercy  on  your  soul !  " 

When  his  cigarette  was  going  well  he  lazed  over  on 
his  side,  supporting  his  head  on  a  crooked  arm,  and 
gazed  abroad  between  half-shut  lids. 

The  view  from  Linny's  Hill  was  all  that  could  be 
desired.  At  the  base  of  the  hill  the  Golden  Bar-Hills- 
ville  trail,  a  yellow-gray  ribbon  across  the  green,  led 
the  eye  across  flats  and  gentle  rises  through  shady 
groves  of  pine  and  cedar  westward  to  where  Golden 
Bar,  a  collection  of  toy  houses,  each  one  startlingly 
clear  and  distinct  in  that  rarefied  atmosphere,  sprawled 
along  the  farther  bank  of  Wagonjack  River. 

The  stream  itself,  a  roaring  river  in  the  spring  of 
the  year,  was  now  but  a  poor  thing.  Shrunk  to  quar- 


6  The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

ter-size,  and  fordable  almost  anywhere,  it  flowed  in 
sedate  and  midsummer  fashion  between  its  cut-banks 
and  miniature  bluffs.  Bordered  throughout  its  length 
by  willows  and  cottonwroods,  Wagonjack  River  mean- 
dered and  wound  its  way  southward  from  the  blue  and 
hazy  tumble  of  peaks  that  was  the  main  range  of  the 
Medicine  Mountains  to  where  the  wide  and  pleasant 
reaches  of  the  Peace  Pipe  watered  the  southern  section 
of  the  territory. 

From  Golden  Bar  to  the  Medicine  Mountains  was 
a  long  two  hundred  miles.  From  Golden  Bar  to  the 
Peace  Pipe  was  twice  that  distance. 

Crocker  County,  four  hundred  miles  long  by  three 
hundred  miles  wide,  bounded  on  the  east  by  the  Wagon- 
jack,  ran  well  up  into  the  Medicine  Mountains  before 
giving  way  to  Storey  County.  Across  the  river  from 
Crocker  were  two  counties,  of  which  Tom  Read  Coun- 
ty was  the  northern  and  Piegan  County  the  southern. 
Shaler  County  ran  the  whole  length  of  the  southern 
side  of  Crocker,  whose  western  line  was  the  boundary 
of  the  neighboring  territory. 

There  you  have  Crocker,  a  county  three  hundred 
miles  wide  by  four  hundred  miles  long,  and  Golden  Bar 
was  its  county  seat. 

Political  pickings  in  Crocker,  which  pickings  the 
neighbors  called  by  a  much  worse  name,  were  consist- 
ently good.  A  small  Indian  reservation  lay  partly  in 
Crocker  and  partly  in  Shaler,  but  somehow  the  Crocker 
citizens  always  secured  the  beef  contracts.  Crocker 
laws,  provided  the  suspected  person  or  persons  were 
friendly  with  the  county  officials,  were  not  administered 
with  undue  severity.  Coarse  work  was  never  tolerated, 


Billy  Wingo  7 

naturally;  but  if  one  were  judicious  and  a  good  picker, 
one  could  travel  far  and  profitably.  Thus  it  may  be 
seen  that  Crocker  was,  as  counties  go,  fertile  ground 
for  easy  consciences. 

But,  like  Gallio,  Bill  Wingo  cared  for  none  of  these 
things.  He  watched  the  moving  pencil-end  that  was 
Miss  Prescott  and  her  mount  descend  to  the  trail  and 
ride  along  it  in  the  direction  of  Golden  Bar. 

Another  pencil-end  was  riding  the  same  trail,  — 
away  from  Golden  Bar.  Traveling  at  their  present 
rate  of  speed,  the  riders  would  meet  not  far  from  the 
scattering  grove  of  cedars  marking  the  entrance  to 
the  low-walled  draw  that  led  to  the  Prescott  ranch 
house. 

Bill  Wingo  intently  scrutinized  the  way-farer  from 
Golden  Bar  side. 

"  Looks  like  Jack  Murray's  sorrel/'  he  mused,  hold- 
ing the  cigarette  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  and  rocking 
it  up  and  down.  "  If  they  stop,  it's  Jack." 

The  pencil-ends  drew  together  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  grove.  They  stopped. 

"  Shucks,"  Mr.  Wingo  muttered  mildly.  "  I  never 
did  like  that  man." 

Said  the  first  pencil-end  to  the  second  pencil-end, 
"  Hello,  Sally  Jane." 

"  Morning,  Jack." 

"  I  was  just  a-riding  to  your  place." 

"  Don't  let  me  stop  you." 

"  I'll  ride  along  with  you." 

"  It's  a  free  country."  She  lifted  her  reins  and 
"kissed  "  to  her  horse.  "  And  at  times  I've  known 


8  The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

you  to  be  amusing,  Jack.  It's  four  miles  to  our  ranch 
and  you'll  help  to  brighten  the  weary  way." 

He  spurred  alongside  and  turned  in  his  saddle  to 
stare  at  her. 

"  Is  that  all  I'm  good  for  —  to  help  pass  the  time?  " 

"  What  else  is  a  man  good  for?  " 

"  Don't  be  so  flip,  Sally  Jane.  You  know " 

He  stopped  short. 

She  waited  a  moment.     Then,  "  I  know  what?  " 

"  You  know  I've  been  loving  you  a  long,  long  time,'" 
he  said  abruptly.  "  I  didn't  want  to  tell  you  till  I  had 
something  to  offer  you  besides  myself.  And  now  I've 
got  something  —  Rafe  Tuckleton  has  promised  to 
make  me  sheriff." 

"  I  thought  the  voters  usually  decided  such  things," 
said  she. 

He  laughed  cynically.  "  Not  in  Crocker.  We 
know  the  better  way.  Well,  I've  told  you,  Sally  Jane. 
What  do  you  say?  " 

She  looked  at  him  coolly.  "  What  is  this  —  a  pro- 
posal?" 

"  Sure,  I  want  you  to  marry  me." 

"  No,  you  don't."  There  was  no  hint  of  coquetry 
in  either  her  tone  or  the  direct  gaze  of  her  violet  eyes. 

He  crowded  his  horse  almost  against  hers  and 
dropped  a  hand  on  top  of  her  hand  where  it  lay  on  the 
saddle  horn.  She  did  not  withdraw  her  hand  at  his 
touch.  She  simply  suffered  it  impassively. 

"  Don't  you  understand?"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  Don't  you  understand  that  I  love  you,  Sally  Jane? 
And  I  want  you." 

Sally  Jane  continued  to  look  at  him. 


Billy  Wingo  9 

"  I  understand  that  you  want  me,"  she  told  him 
calmly.  "  Why  not?  You're  dark  and  tall  and  thick- 
lipped  and  headstrong.  I'm  slim  and  red-haired  and 
my  mouth  is  full,  too  —  but  Fm  headstrong,  thank 
Heaven.  My  type  appeals  to  your  type,  that's  all. 
Appeals  physically,  I  mean.  You'd  like  to  possess  me, 
but  you  don't  love  me,  Jack  Murray." 

"  I  tell  you "  he  began  passionately. 

"  You  don't  have  to  tell  me,"  she  said  calmly.  "  I 
know." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  By  your  eyes." 

"  My  eyes!" 

4  Your  eyes.  Love  is  something  besides  desire,  Jack. 
I  know  that  lots  of  men  don't  think  so;  but  women 
know.  You  bet  women  know.  And  I,  for  one,  don't 
intend  to  risk  my  happiness  on  a  twenty-to-one-shot." 

"  What  you  talking  about?  "  he  demanded,  scowling 
and  withdrawing  his  hand. 

4  You  —  and  me  —  us.  If  I  married  you,  it's 
twenty  to  one  our  marriage  would  be  unhappy.  There's 
too  much  of  the  animal  in  you,  Jack." 

"  You  listen  to  me,  Sally.  I  tell  you  I  love  you  and 
I'm  going  to  have  you." 

"  I  said  you  only  wanted  to  possess  me,"  she  ob- 
served placidly. 

•"  Dammit,  I  tell  you " 

"  That's  right,  swear,"  she  interrupted.  "  A  man 
always  does  that  when  he  can't  think  of  anything  else 
to  say." 

"  I'm  gonna  marry  you,"  he  persisted  sullenly. 


io          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  If  it  does  you  any  good,  keep  right  on  thinking  so. 
It  can't  hurt  me." 

"  Has  Bill  Wingo "  he  began,  but  sensed  his 

mistake  and  stopped  —  too  late. 

"  You  mean  am  I  in  love  with  Billy  Wingo?  "  she 
put  in  helpfully.  u  My  answer  is,  not  at  present." 

"  Meaning  that  you  may  be  later  on,  I  suppose." 

"  I  didn't  say  so.  Lord,  man,  haven't  I  a  right  to 
bestow  my  heart  anywhere  I  like?  I  intend  to,  old- 
timer." 

"  You  ain't  gonna  marry  anybody  but  me,"  he  insist- 
ed stubbornly. 

44  There  you  go  again.  Leave  the  melodrama  alone, 
can't  you?  This  isn't  a  play.  It's  real  life." 

44  I  said  I  was  gonna  have  you  and  I  am,"  he  said 
slowly.  u  Neither  Bill  Wingo  nor  anybody  else  is 
gonna  get  you.  You  were  always  intended  for  me. 
You're  mine,  understand,  mine !  " 

Jamming  his  horse  against  hers  he  pinioned  both  her 
hands  with  his  right,  swung  his  left  arm  round  her 
waist  and  crushed  her  gasping  against  his  chest.  Be 
sure  she  struggled;  but  he  was  a  man,  and  strong. 
Forcing  the  back  of  the  hand  that  confined  her  two 
hands  under  her  chin,  he  tilted  her  head  up  and  back- 
wards. Tightly  she  screwed  up  her  mouth  so  that  her 
lips  were  invisible.  Once,  twice  and  again  he  kissed 
her  compressed  mouth. 

44  There,"  he  muttered,  releasing  her  so  abruptly 
that  she  almost  fell  out  of  the  saddle  and  only  saved 
herself  by  catching  the  saddle  horn  with  both  hands. 
44  There.  I've  heard  you  boasted  that  no  man  had 


Billy  Wingo  II 

ever  kissed  you.     Well,  you're  kissed  now  and  you 
won't  forget  it  in  a  hurry." 

She  settled  her  toes  in  the  stirrups  and  faced  him, 
her  body  shaking.  Her  hat  had  fallen  off,  her  copper- 
colored  hair  hung  tousled  about  her  ears.  Violet  eyes 
sparkling  under  the  black  eyebrows,  lips  drawn  back 
revealing  the  white,  even  teeth  —  her  features  were  a 
mask  of  rage  —  a  rage  that  seethed  and  boiled  in  her 
passionate  heart. 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  been  so  despitefully  used. 
Had  she  had  a  gun,  she  would  have  shot  the  man.  But 
she  did  not  have  a  gun  —  nor  any  other  weapon.  She 
had  even  dropped  her  quirt  somewhere. 

"  Oh!  "  she  cried,  striking  her  fists  together.  "  Oh! 
I  could  kill  you!  You  dog!  You  beast!  Faugh!  " 
Here  she  wiped  her  mouth  with  the  back  of  her  hand 
and  wiped  her  hand  on  her  horse's  mane.  "  When  I 
get  home,"  she  raved  on,  "  I'll  try  to  wash  the  touch 
of  your  mouth  off  with  soap,  but  I  don't  believe  even 
ammonia  will  ever  make  my  lips  feel  clean  again!  " 

He  laughed.  She  began  to  cry  as  her  rage  over- 
flowed her  heart. 

"  When  I  tell  my  father,"  she  sobbed,  "he  will  kill 
you!" 

"  Here,  stop  crying,"  he  directed,  stretching  forth  an 
arm  and  leaning  toward  her. 

At  that  she  came  alive  with  startling  suddenness  and 
with  a  full-armed  sweep  scored  his  cheek  with  her 
finger  nails  from  temple  to  jaw. 

"  Don't  touch  me !  "  she  squalled.     "  Don't  touch 

me !     When  my  father  gets  through  with  you " 

She  left  the  sentence  unfinished  and  wheeled  her  horse. 


12          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

But  he  was  too  quick  for  her  and  seized  the  bridle 
rein  and  swung  her  mount  back. 

"  Listen,"  he  said,  his  voice  quiet  but  his  eyes 
ablaze,  "  don't  say  anything  to  your  father." 

"  Afraid  now,  are  you?  "  she  taunted  sneeringly. 

"  Not  for  me,  for  him.  I  don't  want  any  trouble 
with  your  pa,  not  any.  But  if  he  jumps  me,  Til  have 
to  defend  myself.  And  you  know  your  pa  was  never 
very  quick  on  the  draw,  Sally  Jane.  So  long." 

He  let  her  bridle  go  and  moved  aside.  She  snatched 
her  horse  around  with  a  jerk  and  flew  homeward  at  a 
gallop. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

A  SAFE  MAN 

UWE  gotta  be  careful,"  cautioned  Tom  Driver,  the 
local  justice  of  the  peace. 

"  Careful  is  our  middle  name/'  Rafe  Tuckleton  said 
reassuringly. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  persisted  Driver.  "  But  you 
can't  fool  all  the  people  all " 

"  Abe  Lincoln  said  it  first,"  Felix  Craft  interrupted 
impatiently.  "  But  he  didn't  live  in  Crocker  County." 

"  Or  he  wouldn't  have  said  it,  huh?  "  flung  in  Tip 
O'Gorman.  "  Don't  you  fool  yourself,  Crafty.  Tom's 
right.  Human  nature  don't  change  any." 

"  I  s'pose  you  mean  give  the  people  a  square  deal 
then,"  sneered  Felix. 

"  If  he  does,  he's  crazy,"  said  a  lanky  citizen  named 
Shindle. 

O'Gorman  grinned  a  wide  Irish  smile.  "  No,  I  ain't 
crazy,  but  we'll  give  'em  a  square  deal  alia  same." 

"  He  is  crazy,"  declared  lank  Shindle. 

"  A  square  deal,"  repeated  O'Gorman.  "  A  square 
deal  —  for  us." 

"  I  thought  so,"  nodded  plump  Sam  Larder,  speak- 
ing for  the  first  time  since  the  beginning  of  the  discus- 
sion. "  A  square  deal  —  for  us.  Let's  hear  it,  Tip." 

O'Gorman  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  crossed  his  legs. 


14          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  When  a  dog  is  hungry  it  ain't  sensible  to  feed  him 
a  whole  juicy  steak.  He'll  gobble  it  down  an'  come 
pesterin'  round  for  more  in  five  minutes.  But  give 
him  a  bone  and  he'll  gnaw  and  gnaw  and  be  a  satisfied 
dog  for  quite  a  long  while." 

"  What  kind  of  a  bone  were  you  figuring  on  giving 
our  dog?"  inquired  Tom  Driver. 

"  Sheriff."     Thus  Tip  O'Gorman  with  finality. 

Felix  Craft  shook  a  decided  head. 

"  Guess  again.    Too  much  meat  on  that  bone." 

"  Not  if  it's  the  right  kind  of  meat,"  said  O'Gor- 
man blandly. 

"  Stop  walking  in  the  water,"  grunted  the  impatient 
Felix.  "  Say  it  right  out." 

"  A  sheriff  with  a  ring  in  his  nose,"  explained 
O'Gorman. 

"  A  weak  sister,  huh?  "  put  in  Tom  Driver. 

"  Or  words  to  that  effect,"  smiled  O'Gorman. 
"  Can't  you  see  how  it  is,  gents?  To  shove  our  ticket 
through  we  gotta  give  'em  one  good  man.  If  we  don't, 
the  four  legislators  are  a  stand-off.  We  may  elect 
them.  We  may  elect  our  three  justices,  county  clerk 
and  coroner.  You  can't  tell  what  will  happen  to  them. 
Folks  will  scratch  their  heads  this  election  and  they'll 
vote  their  own  way.  Take  my  word  for  it.  And  when 
it  comes  to  sheriff,  folks  are  gonna  do  more  than 
scratch  their  heads.  They're  gonna  think  —  hard. 
That's  why  we  gotta  give  'em  a  good  man." 

"  One  of  themselves,  for  instance?"  said  plump 
Sam  Larder,  locking  his  hands  over  his  paunch. 

"  Sure,"  O'Gorman  drawled.  "  Do  that.  Give  'em 
somebody  they  trust  and  like  for  sheriff  an'  they'll  be 


A  Safe  Man  15 

so  busy  thinkin'  about  electin'  him  that  the  rest  of  the 
ticket  will  slide  in  like  a  greased  pig  through  a  busted 
fence/7 

"  To  tell  the  truth.  I'd  more  than  half-promised 
the  job  to  Jack  Murray,"  remarked  Rafe  Tuckleton, 
incidentally  wondering  why  Jack  had  not  yet  turned  up 
at  the  meeting.  "  He  should  have  been  here  an  hour 
ago." 

"  You  half-promised  it  to  Jack  Murray,  huh?  "  ex- 
claimed the  lank  citizen  Shindle.  "  Lemme  tell  you 
that  I  was  a  damsight  more  than  half-counting  on  that 
job  myself." 

"  Neither  of  your  totals  is  the  right  answer,  Skinny," 
explained  O'Gorman  pleasantly.  "  Nominatin'  either 
you  or  Jack  would  gorm  up  the  whole  ticket." 

"  Aw,  the  party  is  strong  enough  to  elect  anybody !  " 
protested  Felix  Craft. 

"  Not  this  year,"  contradicted  O'Gorman.  "  You 
ain't  been  round  like  I  have,  Felix.  I  tell  you  I  know. 
Gents,  if  we  go  ahead  and  nominate  either  Skinny 
Shindle  or  Jack  Murray,  we'll  all  have  to  go  to  work." 

"  Who  you  got  in  mind?  "  queried  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

"  Bill  Wingo." 

Dead  silence  for  a  space.  Then  Rafe  Tuckleton 
looked  at  Sam  Larder  and  whistled  lowly.  Sam's  eyes 
switched  to  Tip. 

"  I  don't  see  the  connection,"  said  Sam  Larder. 

"  Me  either,"  concurred  Rafe. 

'"I  should  say  not,"  Shindle  declared  loudly. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Tip  O'Gorman,  beaming  im- 
partially upon  the  assemblage.  "  Take  Skinny  Shindle. 
He " 


16          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Aw  right,  take  me!  "  burst  out  the  gentleman  in 
question.  u  What  about  me  !  What " 

"  Easy,  easy,"  cautioned  Tip  O'Gorman,  his  smile 
a  trifle  fixed.  "  I  ain't  deaf  in  either  ear,  and  besides 
ain't  we  all  li'l  friends  together?" 

"  But  you  said "  Skinny  tried  again. 

"  I  ain't  said  it  yet,"  interrupted  Tip,  "  but  I'm  going 
to  —  gimme  a  chance.  It  won't  hurt.  It's  only  the 
truth.  Take  Skinny  and  look  at  him.  He  buys  scrip 
at  three  times  the  discount  anybody  else  does,  and  there 
was  a  lot  of  talk  about  that  beef  contract  the  agent 
gave  him." 

u  What  of  it?  Folks  don't  have  to  bring  scrip  to 
me  if  they  don't  wanna,  and  suppose  there  was  chat- 
ter about  the  contract.  It's  the  government's  funeral." 

"  It  came  near  being  the  agent's,"  slipped  in  Sam 
Larder,  with  a  reminiscent  grin.  "  Some  of  them 
feather  dusters  like  to  chased  him  off  the  reservation 
when  they  saw  the  kind  of  cattle  he  gave  'em.  I  saw 
'em.  They  were  thinner  than  Skinny.  No  exaggera- 
tion. Absolutely." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  too,"  said  Skinny.  "  A  fel- 
ler's got  to  make  money  somehow.  Who  ever  heard 
of  giving  a  Injun  the  best  of  it?  Not  in  Crocker 
County,  anyway." 

"  That's  all  right  again,  too,"  declared  Tip.  "  But 
that  last  deal  with  the  agent  was  a  li'l  too  raw.  Tak- 
ing that  with  your  prices  for  scrip,  Skinny,  has  made 
a  heap  of  talk.  You  ain't  a  popular  idol,  Skinny,  not 
by  any  means." 

"Damn  my  popularity!"  snarled  the  excellent 
Skinny.  "  I  wanna  be  sheriff." 


A  Safe  Man  17 

"  Like  the  baby  wants  the  soap,"  said  Tip.     "  Well, 
you'll  never  be  happy  then,  because  you'll  never  get 


it." 


"  Lookit  here,  Tip 


"  You  lookit  here,  Skinny,"  swiftly  interjected  Rafe 
Tuckleton.  "  Is  this  campaign  your  own  private  affair, 
or  is  it  the  party's?  " 

"  The  party's,  I  guess,"  Skinny  reluctantly  admit- 
ted. "  But  I  want  my  share  of  it." 

"  You  can  have  your  share  without  being  sheriff," 
Rafe  told  him.  "  You'll  be  taken  care  of,  don't  fret. 
This  here's  a  case  of  united  we  stand,  divided  we 
tumble.  Suppose  any  li'l  thing  upsets  our  plans,  and 
our  ticket  don't  go  through  ?  What  then  ?  What  hap- 
pens? For  one  thing  you  won't  get  the  contract  for 
furnishing  the  lumber  for  the  new  jail  and  town  hall 
that's  gonna  be  built  next  year.  And  for  another,  that 
land  deal  you  and  I  put  through  last  month  will  be  in- 
vestigated. How'd  we  like  that,  huh?  " 

"  Rafe's  right,"  said  Tom  Driver.  "  This  is  no 
time  for  taking  any  chances.  It  ain't  a  presidential 
year,  and  you  can  gamble  there  ain't  gonna  be  a  thing 
to  take  folks'  eyes  off  the  county  politics.  We've  all 
gotta  give  up  something  for  the  sake  of  the  party." 

"  I  don't  notice  you  givin'  up  anything,"  snapped  the 
disgruntled  Skinny.  "  I  seem  to  be  the  only  one  that 
loses." 

"  And  Jack  Murray,"  supplemented  Rafe  Tuckle- 
ton. "  Hell's  bells,  Skinny,  why  didn't  you  say  some- 
thing sooner?  To-night's  the  first  I  ever  heard  you 
even  wanted  an  office.  That's  why  I  told  Jack  he 


i8          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

could  have  it.  He's  a  good  man,  but  if  I'd 
known " 

"  What  difference  does  that  make?"  interrupted 
Skinny,  bitterly.  "  You  couldn't  give  me  the  nomination 
anyway." 

"  You  could  have  had  another  office  —  say  county 
clerk." 

"  Wouldn't  take  it  on  a  bet  —  not  enough  oppor- 
tunity. Aw  hell,  it's  a  dead  horse !  Let  it  go,  Rafe. 
Tip,  you've  had  a  lot  to  say  about  me,  now  let's  hear 
what  you  got  against  Jack  Murray." 

"  Yep,"  said  Rafe  Tuckleton,  "  let's  have  it.  I'll 
have  to  give  Jack  some  reason  for  going  back  on  him, 

and  I  don't  see  exactly "  He  did  not  complete  the 

sentence. 

"  Speaking  personal,"  observed  Tip,  again  on  the 
broad  grin,  "  I  ain't  got  a  thing  against  Jack.  Him 
and  me  get  along  fine.  But  when  Jack  was  first  deputy 
two  years  ago  he  managed  to  kill  four  men  one  time 
and  another." 

1  That  was  in  the  line  of  duty,"  said  Rafe.  "  They 
all  resisted  arrest." 

Tip  O'Gorman  nodded.  "  I  ain't  denying  it.  And 
we've  got  Jack's  word  for  it  besides;  but  the  four 
men  all  had  friends,  and  when,  as  you  know,  each  and 
every  on£  of  'em  turned  out  to  be  more  or  less  inno- 
cent, why  the  friends  got  to  talking  round  and  saying 
Jack  was  too  previous.  Ain't  you  heard  anything  a- 
tall?" 

"  I've  heard  it  said  he  was  a  leetle  quicker  than  he 
maybe  needed  to  be,"  conceded  Rafe.  "  But  folks 
always  talk  more  or  less  about  a  killing.  It  didn't 


A  Safe  Man  19 

strike  me  there  was  enough  in  it  to  actually  keep  Jack 
from  being  elected." 

"  There  is.  They're  only  talking  now,  but  nominate 
Jack  and  they'll  begin  to  yell." 

"  You  must  Have  been  mighty  busy  these  last  few 
weeks,  Tip,"  sneered  Skinny. 

"  I  have,"  declared  Tip.  "  Seems  like  I've  talked 
with  every  voter  in  the  county.  I've  gone  over  the 
whole  field  with  a  finetooth  comb,  and  I  tell  you,  gents, 
the  bone  for  our  dog  is  Bill  Wingo.  Most  everybody 
likes  Bill.  He's  a  damsight  more  popular  than  the 
opposition  candidate.  Bill  will  get  a  lot  of  the  other 
feller's  votes,  but  if  we  put  up  anybody  else  the  other 
feller  will  get  a  lot  of  ours  —  and  so  will  the  rest  of  his 
ticket." 

Tip  O'Gorman  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  eyed  his 
friends.  It  was  obvious  that  the  friends  were  of  two 
minds.  Rafe  Tuckleton,  his  fingers  drumming  on  the 
table,  stared  soberly  at  the  floor. 

"Are  you  sure,  Tip,"  inquired  Larder  suddenly, 
"  that  Bill  Wingo  is  the  breed  of  horse  that  will  always 
drink  when  you  lead  him  to  water?  " 

Tip  O'Gorman  nodded  his  guarantee  of  .Mr.  Wing's 
pliability  of  character.  "  Bill  is  too  easy-going  and 
good-natured  to  do  anything  else." 

"  I'd  always  had  an  idea  he  was  a  good  deal  of  a 
man,"  said  Sam  Larder. 

"  Oh,  he'll  stand  the  acid,"  Tip  said.  "  He'll  go 
after  anybody  he  thinks  he  oughta  go  after;  but  if  we 
can't  manage  to  give  him  the  right  kind  of  thoughts 
we're  no  good." 

uYou  needn't  start  losing  flesh,  Sam,"  slipped  in 


20          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Tom  Driver.  "  Bill  would  never  go  back  on  his 
friends.  H's  just  a  big  overgrown  kid,  that's  all." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  stared 
dubiously  at  Tip  O'Gorman.  "  All  right  for  Bill,  but 
how  about  Tom  Walton?  " 

"  I'll  bite,"  Tip  averred  blandly.  "  How  about 
him?" 

"  Nothing,  oh,  nothing  a-tall.  Only  Tom  Walton 
has  been  one  too  many  round  here  for  a  long  time." 

"  He  does  talk  too  much,"  admitted  Tom  Driver, 
his  bright  little  eyes,  like  those  of  an  alert  bird,  fixed 
on  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

"  He's  a  very  suspicious  man,"  said  the  latter.  "  He 
like  to  broke  Simon  Reelfoot's  neck  last  week  over  a 
horse  of  his  he  said  Simon  rustled." 

"  Serve  Simon  right,"  said  Tip  promptly.  "  Simon's 
a  polecat.  Always  was.  Felt  like  breaking  his  neck 
more  than  once  myself.  Good  for  Walton." 

"  But  Simon's  one  of  our  crowd,"  Rafe  reminded 
him,  "  and  he's  been  mighty  useful.  We  gotta  con- 
sider his  feelings." 

"  Oh,  damn  his  feelings.  The  old  screw  ain't  got 
any  right  to  feelings." 

"  Yes,  but  there  wasn't  any  real  actual  proof  about 
the  horse  —  only  some  tracks  in  Simon's  corral  that 
Walton  thought  he  recognized." 

Tip  quirked  a  quizzical  mouth.  "  Between  us, 
Rafe,  what  did  Simon  do  with/ the  horse?  " 

"  Sold  him  to  a  prospector  who  was  leaving  the 
country.  So  it  couldn't  be  traced." 

"  Good  horse  was  it?  " 

"  It  was  that  chestnut  young  Hazel  rides." 


A  Safe  Man  21 

"  Hazel's  own  pony?  Lord!  Man  alive,  Simon  is 
worse'n  a  polecat.  He's  a  whole  family  of  them. 
Why  couldn't  he  have  rustled  some  other  horse?  " 

"  I  ain't  Simon,  so  I  can't  tell  you,"  said  Rafe  dryly. 
"  But  if  you  don't  want  anything  done  on  Simon's  ac- 
count, how  about  this :  yesterday  one  of  my  boys  was 
shot  at  while  he  happened  to  be  doing  a  li'l  business 
on  the  Walton  range." 

"  What  did  your  boy  happen  to  be  doing?  "  smiled 
Tip. 

Rafe  attempted  to  excuse  himself  and  his  cowboy. 
"  It  was  a  long-ear." 

"  Branding  it  on  the  Walton  range?  " 

"  Yes." 

"With  its  mammy?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Serve  the  boy  right."  Tip  gave  judgment.  "  You 
and  your  outfit  are  getting  too  reckless  for  any  use, 
Rafe.  The  territory  is  not  a  Sunday-school.  You 
can't  pick  a  man's  pocket  openly  any  more.  It  isn't 
safe.  And  you  know  it  isn't  safe.  Who  was  the  boy 
and  what  time  of  day  was  it?  " 

"  Ben  Shanklin;  and  it  was  round  noon." 

"  Worse  and  more  of  it.  My  Gawd,  Rafe,  you 
gimme  a  pain!  " 

Sam  Larder  shook  a  fat-cheeked  head.  "  Danger- 
ous, Rafe;  dangerous.  You've  got  to  consider  a  man's 
feelings  now  more  than  you  used  to.  Haven't  you  told 
your  man  to  always  work  round  sunrise  and  sunset, 
and  never  to  shoot  a  calf's  mammy  on  her  owner's 
territory?  " 


22          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Others  do,  and  get  away  with  it.  Besides,  he 
didn't  shoot  the  cow." 

"  He  might  as  well  have  shot  her,"  declared  Tom 
Driver.  "  He  got  caught,  didn't  he?  " 

"  Ben  didn't  get  caught.  He  made  the  riffle  all  right 
with  two  holes  in  his  saddle-horn  and  one  in  his  cantle 
that  tore  his  pants." 

"  What  range  ?    Did  he  say  ?  " 

"  About  fourteen  hundred." 

"  Fourteen  hundred,  huh?  Then  he  couldn't  have 
been  recognized." 

"  Luckily  not." 

"  Luck  is  the  word  —  for  you  —  for  us." 

"  Wonder  who  did  the  shooting?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Ben  dug  out  one  of  the  bullets  from 
his  horn.  It  was  fifty  caliber —  a  Sharps." 

"  That  was  Tom  Walton  himself,"  declared  Tom 
Driver.  "  He's  the  only  one  in  his  outfit  owning  a 
Sharps,  and  he  won't  let  any  one  else  shoot  it.  'Twas 
Tom  Walton.  And  don't  be  so  positive  Ben  wasn't 
recognized,  Rafe.  I  hear  Walton  carries  field  glasses 


now." 


u  He  is  getting  suspicious,"  smiled  Tip  O'Gorman. 

The  smile  stung  the  amiable  Rafe.  "  He's  gotta  be 
stopped." 

"How?"    Thus  Tip. 

"  There  are  ways,"  snarled  Rafe. 

"  Of  course,  but  it  doesn't  pay  to  be  too  rough.  Tom 
has  a  great  many  friends.  We  can't  afford  to  stir  up 
a  whole  kettleful  of  discontent.  A  little  care,  Rafe, 
is  all  that's  necessary.  I  think  I'd  impress  my  men, 


A  Safe  Man  23 

if  I  were  you,  with  the  absolute  necessity  of  being 
careful." 

"  I  did  tell  'em,"  said  Rafe  sullenly. 

"  Your  telling  seems  to  have  left  them  cold.  At 
least  it  left  Ben  Shanklin.  Damn  his  soul !  I  almost 
wish  Tom  Walton  had  got  him,  the  coyote !  He  de- 
serves to  be  got,  gorming  up  our  plans  thisaway." 

"  Well,  everything  turned  out  all  right,"  Felix  Craft 
tucked  in  hastily.  "  So  why  worry?  I'm  sure  Rafe's 
men  will  be^more  careful  after  this." 

"  I  wish  I  was  sure,"  grunted  Tip  O'Gorman. 
"  They're  a  wild  bunch,  every  last  one  of  'em.  I  be- 
lieve they  just  try  to  stir  up  trouble.  They're  eternally 
getting  drunk  and  shooting  up  saloons  and  other  places 
of  business.  People  don't  like  it." 

"  Oh,  boys  will  be  boys,"  deprecated  Rafe. 

"  Your  boys  will  be  dead  boys  if  they  don't  watch 
out.  Anyway,  you  put  the  hobbles  on  that  Ben  boy, 
Rafe.  We  can't  afford  to  have  him  spoil  things." 

"  How  about  having  him  spoil  Walton?  " 

"  And  antagonize  all  of  Walton's  friends,  huh? 
Bright,  oh,  very!  " 

"  If  the  feller  who  spoiled  Walton  was  a  stranger, 
it  would  be  all  right.  You  couldn't  connect  an  abso- 
lute stranger  with  us,  could  you?" 

u  Let's  hear  your  li'l  plan,"  said  Tip  O'Gorman. 

Every  man  of  them  listened  intently  to  the  Tuckle- 
tonian  plan. 

As  plans  go  it  was  a  good  plan.  Procuring  an  assas- 
sin to  do  the  dirty  work  is  always  a  good  plan.  Rafe 
knew  a  gunman,  named  Slike,  in  a  neighboring  terri- 
tory. For  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  according  to 


24          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Rafe,  Dan  Slike  would  murder  almost  any  one.  For 
five  hundred  it  was  any  one,  without  the  almost. 

"  Can  he  do  it?  "  doubted  Tom  Driver. 

"  We  all  know  how  slow  Tom  Walton  is  on  the 
draw,"  sneered  Rafe.  '  Which  he's  slower  than  Sam 
Prescott.  If  Slike  don't  plug  Walton  three  times  be- 
fore he  can  draw,  I'll  eat  my  shirt." 

"  That  sounds  well,"  said  Tip  O'Gorman,  eyeing 
Rafe  with  frank  disgust.  "  But,  somehow,  I  don't 
like  the  idea  of  having  Walton  killed." 

"  Whatsa  matter  with  you?"  demanded  the  orig- 
inator of  the  idea.  "  Losing  your  nerve?  " 

Tip  O'Gorman's  expression  did  not  alter  in  the 
slightest.  He  gazed  upon  his  questioner  as  if  the  lat- 
ter were  a  new  and  interesting  specimen  of  insect  life. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  I'm  losing  my  nerve. 
Do  you  think  I'm  losing  my  nerve,  Rafe?  " 

Rafe  looked  upon  Tip.  Tip  looked  upon  Rafe. 
The  others  held  their  respective  breaths.  In  the  room 
was  dead  silence. 

"  Do  you,  Rafe?"  persisted  Tip,  his  voice  velvety 
smooth. 

Rafe  found  his  tongue.  "  No,  I  don't,"  he  declared 
frankly.  "  But,  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  like  my 
scheme." 

"Don't  you?  I'll  explain.  Tom  Walton's  niece, 
Hazel,  is  the  drawback.  Rubbin'  out  Tom  would  most 
likely  put  a  crimp  in  her,  sort  of.  She  lost  her  ma 
and  pa  only  five  years  ago." 

"  Aw,  the  devil!"  exclaimed  Rafe  Tuckleton. 
"  We  can't  stop  to  think  of  all  those  li'l  things.  We're 


A  Safe  Man  25 

here  to  make  money,  no  matter  how.  Good  Gawd, 
Tip!  We  ain't " 

"Good  Gawd,  Rafe!"  interrupted  Tip.  "  We 
ain't  hiring  any  gunman  to  wipe  out  Tom  Walton. 
I'm  no  he-angel  —  none  of  us  are,  I  guess ;  but  I've 
known  Hazel  since  she  was  a  li'l  squaller,  and  I  won't 
sit  still  and  see  her  hurt.  And  that  goes!" 

Tip  nodded  with  finality  at  Rafe  Tuckleton.  Rafe 
sat  bacl^  on  the  middle  of  his  spine  and  gnawed  his 
lower  lip.  His  eyes  were  sulky. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  Haz;el  hurt  either,"  said 
Skinny  Shindle  with  an  indescribable  leer,  "  but  when 
it  comes  to  a  question  of  li'l  Hazel  or  us,  I'm  for  us 
every  time." 

"  You  look  here,  Skinny,"  said  Tip  O'Gorman  in  a 
low  dispassionate  voice,  "  what  I  said  to  Rafe,  I  say 
to  you:  Hands  off  Tom  Walton." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Skinny  Shindle,  "  but  if  any- 
thing happens  out  of  this,  don't  say  I  didn't  tell  you." 

"  I  won't  say  so,  Skinny,"  Tip  said  good-naturedly. 
"  I  won't  say  a  word." 

"  Gentlemen,"  Felix  Craft  put  in  hurriedly,  "  let's 
go  slow  about  now.  No  use  saying  anything  hasty,  not 
a  bit  of  use.  Tip's  right.  None  of  us  want  to  hurt 
Hazel,  and -" 

"  And  we  want  to  be  damn  sure  we  don't  want  to 
hurt  Hazel,"  interrupted  Tip  O'Gorman,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Rafe  Tuckleton's  sullen  face. 

"  'T'sall  right,  't'sall  right,"  said  Rafe,  forcing  a 
smile.  "Have  it  your  own  way,  Tip.  Tom  Walton's 
safe  for  all  of  me." 


26          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Good  enough,"  Tip  said  heartily,  shooting  at  Rafe 
a  glance  that  was  not  completely  trustful. 

Entered  then  Jack  Murray,  wearing  a  set  smile 
across  his  scratched  face.  He  nodded  to  the  assem- 
blage, sat  down  jauntily  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and 
brought  out  the  makings. 

"Well!"  he  said,  his  eyes  on  Rafe  Tuckleton, 
rolling  the  while  a  meticulous  cigarette.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  you've  got  the  ticket  all  made  up." 

"Just  about,"  nodded  Rafe. 

"What  prize  did  I  draw?" 

"  A  large,  round  goose-egg,"  Skinny  Shindle  an- 
swered for  Rafe  with  malice. 

"Huh!"  Thus  Mr.  Murray,  the  hand  he  had 
reached  upward  to  his  hatband  coming  down  without 
the  match.  "You  serious,  Skinny?" 

"  I  wish  I  thought  I  wasn't,"  was  the  reply. 

Jack  Murray  turned  a  slow  head  back  toward  Rafe 
Tuckleton.  "  You  told  me  the  sheriff's  job  was  mine," 
he  said  bluntly. 

"  I  thought  it  was,"  admitted  Rafe,  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes.  "  But  we've  heard  some  bad  news,  un- 
expected news.  It  seems  you  ain't  as  popular  with 
our  citizens  as  you  might  be.  We  understand  that 
you're  so  little  liked  you  wouldn't  be  elected  in  a  million 
years." 

'  Who  told  you  that?  "  Jack's  tone  was  sharp. 

"  I  did."  Thus  Tip  O'Gorman  in  a  tone  no  less 
sharp.  "  And  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  you  can 
gamble  on  that." 

'  Tip's  had  his  ear  to  the  ground  pretty  steady," 
said  Rafe  Tuckleton.  "  He  knows  what's  on  every 


A  Safe  Man  27 

voter's  mind,  and  if  we  nominate  you  for  sheriff  it 
means  the  defeat  of  the  party.  Listen,  and  I'll  explain 
the  whole  thing." 

Jack  Murray  listened  in  silence.  When  Rafe  said 
his  last  word,  Jack  Murray  laid  his  unlighted  cigarette 
across  the  end  of  his  left  index  finger  and  teetered  it 
slowly. 

"  Who  you  figurin'  on  running  in  my  place,"  he 
drawled,  his  dark  gaze  on  the  cigarette. 

"  Bill  Wingo." 

The  teetering  stopped.  The  cigarette  slipped  into 
the  fork  of  two  fingers.  The  man  slid  to  his  feet. 

"Bill  Wingo,"  he  repeated.  "  Bill  Wingo,  huh? 
Well,  this  is  a  surprise." 

Without  another  word  he  left  the  room,  closing 
the  door  behind  him  very  gently. 

When  he  had  gone  Tip  O'Gorman  threw  a  whim- 
sical glance  at  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

"  I'd  feel  better  if  he'd  slammed  that  door,"  said 
Tip  O'Gorman. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

WHAT   SALLY  JANE  THOUGHT 

"  CARELESS  child,"  observed  Bill  Wingo,  coming  up 
on  the  porch  where  Sally  Jane  lay  in  the  hammock. 
"  You  dropped  your  hat  in  the  draw.  I  found  it  this 
morning.  Here  it  is.  Don't  move,  sweet  one.  Of 
course,  if  you  asked  me  to  sit  down  or  didn't  ask  me 
I  would,  and  if  you  felt  like  rustling  some  coffee  and 
cake,  or  lemonade  and  doughnuts,  or  even  just  a  piece 
of  pie  with  a  bite  of  cheese  on  the  side  —  just  a  bite, 
not  over  half  a  pound,  I  don't  like  cheese  much  —  I 
wouldn't  stop  you." 

"  Stop  calling  me  4  sweet  one,'  "  Miss  Prescott  said 
crossly.  I'm  not  your  sweet  one,  or  anybody  else's 
sweet  one,  and  I'll  get  you  something  to  fill  your  fat' 
stomach,  you  lazy  loafer,  when  I  get  good  and  ready. 
Not  before." 

"  Well,  all  right,"  he  murmured  resignedly,  settling 
down  on  the  stout  pine  rail  of  the  porch  and  fanning 
himself  with  his  hat.  "  But  I  love  you  just  the  same. 
What's  that?  Did  I  hear  you  curse  or  something?  " 

"  Something.  I  only  said  damn  because  you  make 
me  sick.  Love,  love,  love,  morning,  noon  and  night! 
Don't  men  ever  think  of  anything  else?  " 

"  Not  when  you're  around,"  he  told  her. 


What  Sally  Jane  Thought  29 

"  Oh,  it's  the  very  devil,"  admitted  Sally  Jane,  rub- 
bing her  red  mouth  with  a  reflective  forefinger.  "  Am 
I  so  alluring?  " 

"  Who  has  been  kissing  you  now?"  he  asked  idly 
and  wondered  why  her  face  should  flame  at  the  word. 
Wondered  —  because  everybody  knew  Sally  Jane. 

On  her  part  she  wondered  if  he  had  seen  what  had 
passed  in  tne  draw  the  day  before,  then  decided  in- 
stantly that  he  had  not,  else  his  manner  toward  her 
would  have  been  decidedly  different. 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question?"  he  per- 
sisted, still  idly. 

"  Does  it  need  one?  " 

"  Well,  no,  not  yet,  anyway.  When  you're  engaged 
to  me,  I'll  know  who's  kissing  you." 

"  Don't  be  disgusting." 

"  No  disgusting  about  it.  I'll  probably  hug  you, 
too." 

"  What  dismal  beasts  men  are,"  she  said,  with  a 
mock  shiver,  having  regained  control  of  her  jumpy 
nerves.  "  I  suppose  you'd  enjoy  having  me  sit  on  your 
knee." 

"  I  would  indeed,"  he  told  her  warmly.  "  I  think 
that  chair  there  would  hold  the  two  of  us  if  we  sat 
quiet — fairly  quiet." 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  her  father,  Sam  Prescott, 
came  out  on  the  porch. 

"  Howdy,  young  Bill,"  said  Sam.  He  invariably  pre- 
fixed the  adjective  to  Bill's  name.  Why,  no  one  knew. 
It  was  doubtful  if  he  knew  himself. 

"  'Lo,  Sam,"  said  young  Bill. 

"  Sam,"    said    Sally    Jane    from    the    hammock, 


30          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

44  s'pose  now  a  man  tried  to  hug  you,  and  kiss  you  and 
make  you  sit  on  his  knee,  what  would  you  do?  " 

14  If  I  was  you,  you  mean?  "  inquired  Sam  judicially. 
Middle-aged  though  he  was,  he  never  ceased  to  expe- 
rience a  pleasurable  thrill  when  his  daughter  called  him 
44  Sam."  It  reminded  him  so  much  of  her  mother. 
44  If  I  was  you,"  he  went  on,  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  44  and  the  feller  which  tried  to  make  me  do  all 
those  things  was  young  Bill  here,  I'd  do  'em.  I  really 
believe  he  likes  you,  Sally  Jane." 

"  You  think  so,  do  you?  "  sighed  Sally  Jane,  smooth- 
ing her  frock  down  over  her  ankles.  *  You  too, 
Samuel?  What  chance  has  a  poor  girl  got  —  without 
a  club?" 

44 1  told  her  if  she  married  me,"  spoke  up  Bill,  "  she 
could  have  jam  on  Sundays  and  butter  the  rest  of  the 
week." 

4  There,  you  see,  Sally  Jane !  "  said  Sam  Prescott. 
14  He'll  be  good  and  generous.  And  if  you  asked  him 
for  a  new  dress  now  and  then,  or  a  pair  of  shoes,  I'll 
bet  he  wouldn't  say  no." 

Sally  Jane  stubbornly  shook  her  copper-colored  head 
of  hair.  44  Samuel,"  said  she,  44  you're  the  only  man 
I  ever  loved.  Bill's  all  right  in  his  futile,  thumb- 
handed  way,  but  he's  not  my  Sam.  Now  don't  forget 
that  one  drink  is  enough  for  a  plumpish  man  with  a 
beautiful  daughter,  and  that  I  want  you  to  bring  back 
a  dozen  cans  of  baking-powder,  a  dozen  bars  of 
May  Rose  soap,  three  dozen  boxes  of  matches, 
four  sacks  of  flour,  sack  of  salt,  sixty  pounds  of 
sugar,  two  papers  of  pins,  four  spools  of  number 
forty  cotton  and  a  pail  of  chocolate  creams.  Be  sure 


What  Sally  Jane  Thought  31 

and  take  the  cover  off  and  see  it's  a  full  pail,  and  if 
Nate  tries  to  palm  off  any  stale  stuff  or  hard  candy  on 
you,  why  just  throw  it  in  his  face  and  tell  him  I'll  come 
in  and  complain  in  person  my  next  trip." 

"  My  Lord,  Sally  Jane,"  Sam  exclaimed  helplessly, 
"  I  can't  remember  all  that!  " 

"  I  know  you  can't,"  said  Sally  Jane  calmly.  "  I've 
merely  been  impressing  it  on  you  that  there's  a  lot  of 
errands  for  you  to  do.  You'll  find  a  carefully  written 
list  of  everything  I  want  stuck  in  the  coil  of  the  tie- 
rope  under  the  seat  of  the  buck-board.  You  can't  miss 
it  when  you  go  to  tie  the  team." 

"  And  Sam,"  she  added,  raising  her  voice  to  a  shout, 
for  her  father  had  already  departed  corralward,  "  be 
back  by  seven.  I'm  gonna  make  a  lemon  pie." 

Her  father  waved  a  comprehending  hand  and  dis- 
appeared behind  the  blacksmith  shop. 

"  You  see,"  said  Billy  Wingo,  with  a  smirk  of  self- 
satisfaction,  "  the  male  parent  approves.  The  last  ob- 
stacle is  removed.  Be  a  sport.  Take  a  chance.  You 
might  go  farther  and  fare  worse." 

"  I  doubt  it,  William.  Not  that  you  aren't  a  nice 
boy  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  However,  tell  sister  why 
you  seek  her  company  this  morning?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  sister  not  being  a  good  excuse 
for  coming,  I  did  another  reason.  I  have  a  fresh 
bale  of  news  for  her  li'l  pink  ear.  Last  night  I  was 
approached  —  "  He  paused  dramatically. 

"How  much  did  he  try  to  borrow?"  Sally  Jane 
inquired  indifferently. 

""Nothing  like  that  sweet  one.    The  political  steers- 


32          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

men  of  our  fair  county  rode  out  to  my  place  last  night 
and " 

44  What  did  the  old  thief  want?  "  Sally  Jane  brutally 
wished  to  know. 

44  Steersmen,  beloved.  There  were  two  of  him,  and 
you  do  both  old  gentlemen  an  injustice.  They " 

44  So  Tip  came  with  Rafe,  did  he?  And  you  mean 
to  tell  me  you  didn't  even  miss  your  watch  after  they'd 
gone?  You  didn't?  They  must  be  sick,  the  pair  of 
them.  What  did  they  do?" 

44  Offered  me  the  nomination  for  sheriff !  " 

Sally  Jane  sat  up  abruptly,  stuck  her  finger  in  her 
mouth,  then  held  it  up  to  catch  the  vagrant  breeze. 

44  The  wind's  still  in  the  west,"  she  said,  making  her 
eyes  round  as  saucers.  u  And  you  are  still  sitting  there 
as  large  as  life,  and  I'm  here  alive  and  in  my  right 
mind!11  Here  she  pinched  her  forearm.  "  That 
hurt,"  she  added.  44  I  really  am  not  dreaming.  They 
want  you  for  sheriff,  huh?  " 

44  Don't  4*huh  '  at  me,  Sally  Jane.  It  ain't  being 
done  by  the  best  people  no  more.  And  they  want  me 
for  sheriff,  really." 

14 1  wonder  just  how  much  of  that  really  is  real?  " 

He  wrinkled  his  forehead  at  her.  "  Sometimes, 
Sally  Jane,  you  talk  most  awful  puzzling." 

4  Those  two  old  rascals!  "  she  cried. 

14  Don't  you  think  their  intentions  are  honorable?  " 

Sally  Jane's  laughter  was  sardonic. 

"Arc  they  trying  to  fool  me,  or  what?"  he  per- 
sisted. 

11 1  don't  know  whether  they're  trying  to  fool  you 


What  Sally  Jane  Thought  33 

or  not,"  was  the  reply,  "  but  they're  trying  to  fool 
somebody,  that's  a  cinch." 

"  Do  you  know  now,  Sally  Jane,  I  was  thinking  some- 
thing like  that  myself." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  gleam  of  respect  in  her 
eyes.  "  I  wonder  if  you  really  have  a  brain  after  all, 
William.  Occasionally  you  give  out  a  spark  that  leads 
one  to  believe  that  there  may  be  a  trace  of  reasoning 
power  underneath  your  waving  hair.  What  makes  you 
think  they  have  an  ulterior  motive?  " 

"  Humanly  speaking,  I  dunno  why;  but  I  do." 

"  Instinct  is  the  white  woman's  burden,  boy.  You'd 
better  leave  it  alone.  But  it  doesn't  take  any  instinct 
to  tell  me  that  there's  a  man  and  brother  hiding  in  the 
cord-wood.  To  find  the  dark-hued  gentleman  —  that 
is  the  question." 

"Why  take  the  trouble?" 

"Why?  Listen  to  the  man !  Why?  So  you'll  know 
what  you're  up  against,  that's  why." 

"  But  I'm  not  up  against  anything,"  he  objected 
mildly.  "  I  told  'em  I  didn't  want  the  job." 

"What?" 

He  rubbed  an  outraged  ear.  "  No  need  to  deafen 
me,"  said  he. 

"Deafen  you?"  she  cried.  "I  could  take  a  club 
to  you,  you  fat-head !  The  opportunity  of  a  lifetime 
and  you  turn  it  down  I  Oh !  I  could  shriek  my  head 
off  with  rage!  I  never  was  so  hopping  in  my  life! 
The  first  time  an  honest  man  is  offered  a  political  job 
in  this  county,  for  the  honest  man  to  turn  up  his  nose, 
is "  Words  failed  her.  She  almost  choked. 

"  So-o,  so-o,"  he  soothed.     "  Don't  get  so  excited. 


34          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Remember  we  are  young  but  once,  and  every  outburst 
brings  us  nearer /he  grave.  I  hadn't  reached  the  end 
of  my  tale  when  you  blew  up  and  hit  the  ceiling. 
Lemme  finish,  that's  a  good  child.  I  told  'em  I  didn't 
want  the  job,  but  they  wouldn't  take  '  no  '  for  an  an- 
swer. They  said  for  me  to  think  it  over,  and  they'd  be 
back  in  a  couple  of  days  and  take  it  up  with  me  again." 

44  Bill,"  said  Sally  Jane,  leaning  forward,  her  violet 
eyes  shining,  "  I'm  serious." 

44  I'll  try  to  believe  it,"  he  said,  regarding  her  with 
admiration.  "  But  just  this  minute  you  look  like  the 
most  unserious  thing  I  ever  saw  —  and  the  most  beauti- 
ful. Listen,  Sally  Jane,  I  wish  you'd  do  as  I  ask  you. 
Close  your  eyes  and  plunge  right  in.  We'd  be  as 
happy  as  two  pups  in  a  basket.  Sign  on  the  dotted 
and  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

Which  nonsense  she  quite  properly  disregarded  ut- 
terly. "  Bill,  I  want  you  to  take  that  nomination." 

14  But  why,  Sally  Jane?    I  don't  wanna  be  sheriff." 

"Suppose  I  want  you  to?" 

11  But  why  should  you  want  me  to?  " 

11  Isn't  it  enough  that  I  ask  it?  " 

'You  flirt!  You're  utterly  shameless!  You  know 
you  can  twist  me  all  round  your  li'l  pink  finger  like  a 
piece  of  string.  You  know  I'm  fool  enough  to  do  any- 
thing you  ask,  and " 

1  Well  then,  good  fool,"  she  smiled  her  interruption, 
"  it's  all  settled.  You  accept  the  nomination,  and  if 
you  don't  make  things  hum  after  you're  elected,  you're 
not  the  man  I  take  you  for." 

pped  right  off  the  porch  rail  and  sat  down 
limply  on  the  floor.    His  eye-balls  rolled  up.    His  hand 


What  Sally  Jane  Thought  35 

fluttered  over  his  heart.  He  breathed  with  difficulty. 
"  At  last,"  he  muttered.  "  Accepted !  The  shock  will 
be  the  death  of  me !  Water!  Water!  With  a  little 
whisky  stirred  in.  Just  a  little.  Not  more  than  four 
or  five  fingers,  or  perhaps  six.  No  sugar." 

He  got  to  his  feet  slowly  and  reseated  himself  on 
the  rail.  '  You  won't  go  back  on  your  word,  Sally 
Jane,"  he  told  her  soberly. 

"  I  can  do  lots  of  things  you  never  heard  of,"  said 
she.  "  But  making  two  meanings  grow  where  only  one 
grew  before  is  not  one  of  them." 

"  Joking  aside,"  he  said,  "  will  you  marry  me  if  I 
take  this  sheriff  job?  " 

"  Joking  aside,"  said  she,  "  would  you  want  me  for  a 
reason  like  that?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  he  admitted  frankly.  "  I'd  want  you  to 
love  me  a  lot." 

"  I'd  make  a  pretty  worthless  wife  otherwise. 
Honestly,  Bill,  I  like  you  a  great  deal,  but  there's 
something  lacking.  And  when  there's  something  lack- 
ing, there's  nothing  to  be  done.  Love  is  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world,  Bill.  It's  what  makes  life  worth 
living.  And  you  musn't  cheat  it.  If  you  do,  you  might 
better  never  have  been  born." 

He  nodded.  Try  as  he  might,  he  was  unable  to 
feel  very  badly.  He  decided  to  give  it  up  as  a  hope- 
less job. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  gravely.  "  Sometimes,  Sally  Jane, 
I  get  an  idea  that  maybe  you  and  me  won't ~marry  each 
other,  after  all.  But  no  matter  what  happens,  I'll 
always  be  a  brother  to  you.  You  can  count  on  me." 

He  arose  and  made  her  a  flourishing  bow. 


36         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"That,"  said  Sally  Jane,  with  her  bright  smile, 
kes  a  load  off  my  heart.  As  a  sister,  I  know  I'd 
fill  every  requirement.  Be  a  good  brother  now,  and 
do  as  I  ask.  Be  a  sheriff." 

"  All  right,"  said  Billy  Wingo.    "  I  will." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

HAZEL  WALTON 

"Now  there,"  said  Riley  Tyler,  staring  at  the 
driver  of  a  buckboard  who  was  tying  her  team  in 
front  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  store,  "  now  there  is  a 
girl  that  is  pretty  as  a  li'l  red  wagon,  new-painted." 

Billy  Wingo,  unmoved,  continued  to  whittle  the  end 
of  the  packing  case  he  was  sharing  with  Tyler.  He 
did  not  even  look  at  the  girl,  and  she  was  a  very  hand- 
some girl. 

"  Yeah,"  said  Billy  Wingo. 

"  Not  that  I  cotton  to  a  female  girl  as  a  usual  thing," 
resumed  Riley,  "  ever  since  a  experience  I  had  when 
young.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  time ;  maybe  I  better 


now." 


"  No,  not  now,"  Billy  made  Jiaste  to  say;  for  he 
had  heard  the  story  of  every  single  one  of  Tyler's 
love  affairs  at  least  a  dozen  times.  "  Le's  talk  about 
somethin'  pleasant.  Try  the  weather." 

"  You  know,  just  for  that,"  trundled  on  Riley  Tyler, 
"  we'll  go  on  talking  about  young  Hazel  Walton  over 
there.  Pity  she's  gone  in  the  store.  You've  never 
taken  a  good  look  at  her,  have  you?  " 

"  Nor  I  don't  want  to,"  denied  Billy  with  what 
seemed  to  Riley  an  unnecessary  heat. 


38          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

44  Why  not?  Do  your  eyes  good.  Tell  you,  Bill, 
she's  got  the  best-looking  black  hair  y'ever  saw." 

I  saw  her  once  or  twice  with  her  uncle,"  Billy  ad- 
mitted desperately.  "  She's  all  you  say  she  is  and  more 
too.  Anything  to  please  the  children.  Don't  you  ever 
stop  talkin',  Riley?" 

44  Not  when  I  got  somethin'  like  Hazel  to  talk 
about,11  declared  the  relentless  Riley,  warming  to  his 
subject.  4<  Y'oughta  notice  her  eyes  once,  Bill.  Tell 
you,  you  never  saw  eyes  till  you  see  hers.  They're 
eyes,  they  are!  Big  and  black  and  soft  and  eyewink- 
ers  long  as  a  pony's.  Fact.  And  she  ain't  lost  a  tooth. 
She's  still  got  the  whole  thirty-four.  You  take  my 
word  for  it,  Bill,  she's  a  whole  lot  different  from  other 
folk 

44  She's  two  teeth  different  anyway.  Most  generally 
all  other  folks  can  crowd  in  their  mouth  are  thirty- 
two." 

14  What's  a  tooth  more  or  less  between  friends?" 
said  the  unabashed  Riley.    "  She's  got  a  whole  mouth- 
md  when  she  smiles  she  shows  'em  all." 

'That's  great,"  yawned  Billy,  closing  his  pocket- 
knife  with  a  click.  "  You  forgot  to  say  whether  she's 
a  good  cook  or  not." 

14  She's  a  number  one  cook,"  Riley  told  him  seriously. 
11  Her  coffee  is  coffee,  lemme  tell  you,  and  she  don't 
fry  a  steak  to  boot-leather  neither.  Not  her. 
No.  She  broils  it,  she  does.  Y'oughta  taste  her 
mashed  potatoes.  No  lumps  in  'em  or  grit  or  nothin', 
only  the  mealy  old  potato;  and  butter  beets!  My 
Gawd!" 

11  Mixes  'em  up  with  the  potato,  huh?  " 


Hazel  Walton  39 

"  Of  course  not,  you  jack  —  separate.  And  canned 
peas  —  separate.  Actually  she  cooks  those  peas  so 
they're  tender  as  fresh  ones;  tenderer,  by  gummy! 
Makes  her  own  butter,  too,  in  a  churn." 

"  Well,  well,  in  a  churn.  I  never  knew  they  made 
butter  thataway." 

"  Shut  up,  Bill.  You  ain't  got  any  soul.  I  stop  at 
Walton's  for  a  meal  every  chance  I  get.  Y'oughta  see 
her  cookin'  a  meal,  Bill.  She  rolls  her  sleeves  up  and 
she's  got  dimples  in  her  elbows.  She's  a  picture,  and 
you  can  stick  a  pin  in  that." 

"  Why  don't  you  marry  the  girl?  " 

"  I've  asked  her,"  was  the  reply  made  without  ran- 
cor. uShe  said,  'No  thanks.'" 

"  That's  one  thing  in  her  favor." 

"  Yeah,  I  think  —  Hey !  what  you  tryin'  to  do,  in- 
sult me?" 

"  Insult  you,  you  tarrapin?  You  wouldn't  know 
it  if  I  did." 

"  If  I  wasn't  so  comfortable,  I'd  show  you  some- 
thing," declared  Riley  Tyler,  sliding  farther  down  on 
the  small  of  his  long  back.  "  But  the  heat  has  saved 
your  life,  William.  Yeah,  otherwise  you'd  be  a  corpse 
all  bluggy  in  the  middle  of  Main  Street.  I'm  a  wild 
wolf  when  I'm  riled,  you  can  gamble  —  Yonder  she 
comes.  She  didn't  stay  long." 

Billy  dug  the  Tyler  shortribs  with  a  hard  elbow. 
"  Where's  your  manners?  Go  over  and  untie  the 
lady's  team." 

"Too  far.  She'd  have  'em  untied  by  the  time  I 
got  there.  Besides,  I'm  too  comfortable.  Another 
thing,  I'd  have  to  get  up.  No,  no,  I'll  stay  here." 


40          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Hazel  Walton  stepped  into  the  buckboard,  kicked 
the  brake-lever  and  swung  her  team  like  a  workman. 
The  tall  near  mule  laid  back  his  long  ears  and  planted 
both  hind  feet  on  the  dashboard.  Smack!  Smack! 
went  the  whip.  The  mule  tucked  his  tail,  shook  his 
mean  head  and  tried  to  jump  through  his  collar.  The 
brake-lever  shot  forward  under  the  shove  of  the  girl's 
straightened  right  leg.  The  sensible  off  mule  threw 
his  head  to  the  left  to  ease  the  hard  drag  on  his  mouth 
as  the  girl  swayed  back  on  the  near  rein.  The  near 
mule,  hearing  the  slither  of  the  locked  wheels  behind 
him,  and  with  his  windpipe  bent  like  a  bow  and  his 
chin  forced  back  to  his  chest,  decided  that  fighting 
would  avail  him  nothing  and  quieted  at  once. 

"  Regular  driver,  that  girl,"  Billy  said  approvingly. 
u  It  ain't  every  woman  can  drive  a  pair  of  those  big 
freight  mules.  I  never  knew  she  was  like  that." 

"  Lots  of  things  you  dunno,"  Riley  hastened  to  say. 
4  You  didn't  even  know  she  was  pretty." 

Billy  hopped  across  the  sidewalk  and  ran  out  into 
the  middle  of  Main  Street.  The  mules,  hard  held,  slid 
to  a  halt.  Billy  scooped  up  the  package  that  had 
fallen  from  behind  the  seat  and  hurried  up  to  the  buck- 
board. 

4  Your  tarp's  slipped  a  little,  ma'am,"  said  he,  stow- 
ing away  the  package  without  raising  his  eyes  to  Miss 
Walton,  who  was  leaning  over  the  back  of  the  seat. 
44  I'll  tie  it  fast." 

Not  till  the  tarpaulin  was  fastened  to  his  complete 
satisfaction  did  he  look  up.  Then  he  realized  that 
Rilcy  Tyler  had  not  told  half  the  truth  about  Hazel 
Walton's  eyes.  True,  they  were  big  and  black  and  soft, 


Hazel  Walton  41 

but  they  were  deep  too,  deep  as  cool  rock  pools,  and 
they  looked  at  you  steadily  with  a  straight  look  that 
somehow  made  you  wish  that  you  had  been  a  better 
boy. 

Queer  that  he  hadn't  noticed  this  attribute  be- 
fore. But  at  none  of  the  two  or  three  times  he  had 
passed  the  girl  on  Golden  Bar's  Main  Street  had  she 
impressed  him  in  the  least.  He  could  not  have  de- 
scribed her  to  save  his  life.  Perhaps  it  was  because 
he  had  not  looked  into  her  eyes  before  to-day.  But  he 
wasted  no  time  thinking  about  that.  He  kept  right  on 
looking  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  don't  come  in  town  very  often."  was  his  suffi- 
ciently inane  observation. 

"  Not  very  often,"   said  she,   and  smiled. 

Yes,  there  were  the  teeth.  And  weren't  they  white ! 
He  didn't  know  when  he  had  seen  such  white  teeth. 
And  her  mouth  had  a  dimple  near  one  corner.  Now 
the  dimple  was  gone.  He  wished  it  would  appear 
once  more. 

"  Do  it  again,"  he  found  himself  saying  like  a  fool. 

She  wrinkled  her  pretty  forehead  at  him.   "  What?  " 

"  Smile,"  he  said,  with  a  boldness  that  surprised 
himself. 

It  surprised  Hazel  Walton,  surprised  her  so  that 
she  jerked  around  to  the  front,  "  kissed  "  to  the  mules 
and  drove  away  without  a  word. 

Billy  stood  quite  still  in  the  middle  of  Main  Street, 
with  his  hat  off,  and  looked  after  her  a  moment.  Then 
he  pulled  on  the  hat  with  a  jerk  and  returned  to  his 
packing  case. 

"  What  did  she  say  to  you?  "  Riley  wanted  to  know. 


42          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  None  of  your  business,"  was  the  ungracious  reply. 

44  She  left  you  sort  of  sudden,"  persisted  Riley. 
44  And  why  did  you  stand  still  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  and  look  after  her  so  forlorn  and  long?  " 

44 1  wasn't  lookin'  more  than  ten  seconds,"  denied 
Billy,  jarred  off  his  balance  for  once  in  his  life. 

44  Shucks,  I  had  time  to  roll  a  cigarette,  and  smoke 
it  to  the  butt  while  you  stood  there  nailed  to  the  earth. 
Yeah.  Tell  you,  Bill,  you  don't  wanna  let  your  feel- 
ings give  you  away  so  much.  Bad  business  that  is. 
Somebody's  bound  to  pick  your  pocket  forty  ways. 
Y'oughta  play  poker  more.  That  would  teach  "ou 
self-control." 

44  Bluh,"  grunted  Billy.  "  Think  you're  smart,  don't 
you?" 

11 1  know  I  am,"  returned  Riley,  crossing  one  knee 
over  the  other  and  diddling  his  foot  up  and  down  to 
the  thin  accompaniment  of  a  tinkling  spur-rowel.  "  I 
got  eyes,  I  have.  I  can  see  through  a  piece  of  glass 
most  generally.  Oh,  mush  and  milk,  love's  young^ 
dream,  and  when  shall  we  meet  again." 

44  Aw,  hell,  shut  up !  "  urged  Billy,  and  shoved  his 
friend  off  the  packing  case  and  went  elsewhere  hastily. 

Riley  first  swore,  then  laughed  and  reseated  him- 
self on  the  case.  Jack  Murray,  passing  by,  stopped 
and  sneered  openly.  It  was  obvious  that  Jack  was  in 
liquor. 

He  don't  care  how  much  he  picks  on  you,  does 
he?"  observed  Jack. 

Riley  Tyler  did  not  move  hand  or  foot.  But  a 
subtle  change  took  place.  Iron  turning  into  steel  under- 
goes such  a  metamorphosis.  The  sixth  sense  of  an 


Hazel  Walton  43 

observing  old  gentleman  across  the  street  and  directly 
in  line  with  Jack  Murray  informed  its  owner  of  the 
sudden  chill  in  the  air.  The  observing  old  gentleman, 
whose  name  was  Wildcat  Simms,  oozed  backward 
through  a  doorway  into  the  Old  Hickory  saloon. 

"Why  are  you  walking  like  a  crab,  Wildcat?.1' 
queried  his  friend  the  bartender. 

"  Because  Jack  Murray  is  talking  to  Riley  Tyler." 

The  bartender,  wise  in  his  generation,  was  well  able 
to  fill  in  the  rest  for  himself.  He  joined  the  old  gentle- 
man behind  a  window  at  one  side  of  the  line  of  fire. 

Riley  Tyler,  meanwhile,  was  fixedly  regarding  Jack 
Murray. 

"  Meaning?  "  said  Riley  Tyler. 

Jack  Murray  came  right  out  into  the  open.  "  Ain't 
you  able  to  stand  up  for  yourself  no  more  ?  " 

There  it  was  —  the  deliberate  insult.  Followed  the 
movement  so  swift  no  eye  could  follow.  But  Riley's 
gun  caught.  Jack  Murray's  didn't.  When  the  smoke 
began  to  wreathe  upward  in  the  windless  air,  Jack 
Murray  was  calmly  walking  away  up  in  the  street  and 
Riley  Tyler  was  hunched  across  the  packing  case. 
Blood  was  running  down  the  boards  of  the  packing  case 
and  seeping  through  the  cracks  in  the  sidewalk. 

Billy  Wingo  was  the  fourth  man  to  reach  Riley.  The 
boy,  for  he  was  not  yet  twenty-one,  had  been  turned 
over  on  his  back  on  the  sidewalk.  He  was  unconscious. 
Samson,  the  Green-Front  Store  owner,  was  bandaging 
a  \yound  in  Riley 's  neck. 

"  Lucky,"  observed  Samson,  "  just  missed  the  jug- 
ular." 


44          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

u  Where  else  is  he  shot?  "  queried  Billy,  his  eyes  on 
the  blood-soaked  front  of  Riley's  shirt. 

44  Right  shoulder,"  Samson  informed  him. 

44  I  heard  three  shots,"  said  Billy.  "  Two  was  close 
together  but  the  last  one  was  maybe  ten  seconds  later." 

"  I  only  found  the  two  holes,"  declared  Samson. 

But  when  Billy  and  another  man  picked  up  Riley 
to  carry  him  to  the  hotel,  Billy  found  where  the  third 
shot  had  gone.  It  had  penetrated  Riley's  back  on  the 
left  side,  bored  between  two  ribs,  missed  the  wall  of  the 
stomach  by  a  hair  and  made  its  exit  an  inch  above  the 
waistband  of  the  trousers. 

The  marshal,  who  had  seen  the  crowd  going  into  the 
hotel,  arrived  as  Billy  and  Samson  were  making  Riley 
as  comfortable  as  possible  on  a  cot  in  one  of  the  hotel 
rooms. 

The  marshal,  whose  surname  being  Herring  was 
commonly  called  u  Red,"  thrust  out  a  lower  lip  as  he 
surveyed  the  man  on  the  bed. 

"  Even  break,  I  hear,"  said  the  marshal. 

Billy  set  him  right  at  once.  "  You  heard  wrong, 
Red.  Riley's  gun  caught.  I  found  where  the  sight  had 
slipped  through  a  crack  in  the  leather.  Besides,  Riley 
was  plugged  in  the  back  after  he  was  down.  Do  you 
call  that  an  even  break?  " 

"Well,  no,"  admitted  Red  Herring,  who  was  in- 
clined to  be  just,  if  being  just  did  not  interfere  with  his 
line  of  duty.  "  Anybody  see  it  besides  you?  " 

14 1  didn't  see  it  a-tall.  I  didn't  have  to.  I  heard  the 
shots  —  two  close  together  and  one  a  good  ten  seconds 
later.  Oh,  Riley  was  plugged  after  he  was  down  and 


Hazel  Walton  45 

out,  all  right  enough.  Besides,  Riley  was  lying  across 
his  gun  hand  when  he  was  picked  up,  Samson  says." 

"  That's  right,"  nodded  Samson. 

"  Jack  was  a  little  previous,  sort  of,"  frowned  the 
marshal. 

"  You  think  so,"  said  Billy  sarcastically.  "  Maybe 
you're  right." 

"  Well,  I  can't  do  a  thing,"  said  the  marshal.  "  I 
didn't  see  it.  And  these  fraycases  will  happen  some- 
times." 

"  Nobody's  asking  you  to  do  anything,"  said  Billy. 
"  I'  m  looking  after  this." 

"  Now  don't  you  go  pickin'  a  fight  with  anybody," 
urged  the  marshal,  instantly  perceiving  his  line  of  duty. 
"  Judge  Driver  is  dead  against  these  promiscuous 
shootings." 

u  Judge  Driver  can  go  to  hell,"  Billy  said  with  heat. 
"  What's  this  here  but  a  promiscuous  shooting,  I'd 
like  to  know?  And  I  don't  see  you  arrestin'  anybody 
for  it.  You  said  you  couldn't." 

"  I  didn't  see  this  one,  and  besides  Riley  ain't  been 
killed,  and  no  complaint  has  been  made,"  defended  the 
marshal,  who  was  no  logician.  "  But  where  a  feller 
says  he's  gonna  attend  to  somebody,  that  shows  pre- 
meditation and  malice  aforethought,  which  both  of  'em 
is  against  the  statute  as  made  and  provided  in  such 
cases." 

"  How  you  do  run  on,"  commented  Billy. 

But  the  Red  Herring  lacked  a  sense  of  humor. 
Heavy  of  soul,  lie  frowned  heavily  at  Billy. 

"  You  go  slow,"  was  his  fishy  advice. 

"  Be  careful  and  otherwise  refrain  from  violence," 


46          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

observed  Billy,  whose  English  became  better  as  his  tem- 
per grew  worse.  "  I  grasp  your  point  of  view,"  he 
added  gravely.  "  But  I  don't  like  it.  Not  for  a  min- 
ute I  don't.  I'll  do  as  I  think  best.  I'd  rather,  really." 

44  Don't  you  go  startin'  nothin'  you  can't  finish," 
said  the  marshal,  lost  in  a  maze  of  words.  "  I  don't 
want  to  have  to  arrest  you." 

44  I  don't  want  you  to  have  to  either,"  Billy  averred 
warmly.  "  Arrestin  '  me  would  surely  interfere  with 
my  plans.  Yeah." 

44  A  sheriff-elect  had  oughta  set  a  good  example," 
argued  the  marshal. 

Riley  Tyler  rolled  his  head  from  side  to  side.  He 
muttered  incoherently.  The  men  about  the  cot  turned 
to  look  down  at  him.  Then  he  said,  speaking  dis- 
tinctly : 

"He  shot  me  after  I  was  down." 

Billy  Wingo  raised  his  eyes  and  stared  at  the  mar- 
shal. 

44  How's  that,  umpire?  "  said  Billy. 

11  He's  raving,"  snapped  the  marshal. 

"  A  man  speaks  the  truth  when  he's  thataway,"  re- 
buked Billy.  "  I'm  going  to  see  about  this." 

But  the  marshal  blocked  his  way.  "  I  told  you 
"  he  began. 

14  Get  out  of  my  way!  "  directed  Billy,  his  gray  eyes 
ablaze. 

The  marshal  got.  After  all,  he  had  no  specific  or- 
ders to  prevent  a  meeting  between  Jack  Murray  and 
Billy  Wingo.  Let  Jack  look  out  for  himself.  No 
doubt  Rafe  and  sundry  other  of  his  friends  would  be 
annoyed,  but  it  couldn't  be  helped.  The  marshal  be- 


Hazel  Walton  47 

took  himself  hurriedly  to  the  back  room  of  the  Free- 
dom Saloon. 

Billy,  coldly  purposeful,  made  a  round  of  the  saloons 
first.  In  none  of  them  did  he  find  his  man  or  news  of 
him.  Finally,  from  the  stage  company's  hostler  tend- 
ing a  cripple  outside  the  company  corral,  he  learned 
that  Jack  had  left  town. 

"  Which  he  went  surging  off  down  the  Hillsville 
trail,"  said  the  hostler,  "  like  he  hadn't  a  minute  to 
lose.  He  told  me  he  was  going  to  Hillsville." 

"  Told  you?  "  Surprisedly. 

"  Yes,  told  me,  sure.  '  If  the  marshal  wants  me,' 
says  he,  as  he  loped  past,  '  tell  him  I've  gone  to  Hills- 
ville.' " 

Here  was  an  odd  thing.  Jack  Murray  knew  where 
he  stood  with  the  powers  that  were  and  consequently 
knew  that  the  marshal  would  not  want  him  for  the 
shooting.  Yet  here  was  Jack  Murray  not  only  leaving 
town  hastily,  as  though  he  feared  capture,  but  taking 
pains  to  leave  word  where  he  was  going.  The  two 
facts  did  not  fit.  True,  a  gentleman  seeking  to  mislead 
possible  pursuers  might  lie  as  to  where  he  was  going.  In 
which  case  such  a  gentleman  would  not  take  a  trail 
like  the  Hillsville  trail  —  a  trail  visible  from  Golden 
Bar  for  almost  five  miles  in  both  directions.  But  if  a 
person  wished  to  be  pursued 

"  I  think  I  can  see  his  dust  still,"  said  the  hostler 
helpfully,  pointing  toward  the  spot  where  the  Hills- 
ville trail  entered  a  grove  of  pines  five  miles  out. 

"  I  think  I  see  it  too,"  declared  Billy  grimly,  and 
went  hurriedly  to  the  hotel  for  his  rifle  and  saddle. 


48          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Hazel  Walton,  jogging  along  the  homeward  way, 
was  overtaken  by  a  horseman.  He  nodded  and  called, 
"  'Lo,"  as  he  galloped  by.  She  returned  his  greeting 
with  careful  courtesy.  But  she  scowled  and  made  a 
little  face  after  his  retreating  back.  She  did  not  like 
Jack  Murray.  She  never  had.  The  man  had  repelled 
her  from  the  moment  she  first  set  eyes  on  him. 

It  is  human  nature  for  one  to  take  an  interest  in  the 
movement  of  a  person  one  dislikes.  Hazel  wondered 
where  Jack  Murray  was  riding  so  fast.  For  it  was  a 
hot  day.  Her  wonder  grew  when,  twenty  minutes 
after  he  had  passed  from  sight,  she  perceived  by  the 
hoofmarks  that  he  had  left  the  trail  and  turned  into  a 
dry  wash.  She  knew  that  the  wash  led  nowhere,  that 
it  was  a  blind  alley,  a  cul-de-sac  ending  in  a  rock-strewn, 
unclimbable  slope  that  was  the  base  of  Block  Mountain. 
This  wash  was  a  good  two  miles  beyond  where  the 
trail  entered  the  grove  of  pines  five  miles  out  of  Golden 
Bar. 

Beyond  the  wash  the  trail  wound  up  the  side  of  a 
hill.  At  the  crest  of  the  hill  the  off  mule  picked  up 
a  stone.  Hazel  set  the  brake,  tied  the  reins  to  the  fel- 
ley  of  a  wheel  and  jumped  to  the  ground.  The  stone 
was  in  a  near  fore,  and  jammed  tight.  After  ten 
minutes  hard  hammering  and  levering  with  her  jack- 
knife  she  had  the  stone  out. 

As  she  released  the  foot  from  between  her  knees 
and  straightened  her  back,  her  gaze  swept  along  the 
back  trail.  She  saw  only  sections  of  trail  till  it  passed 
beyond  the  grove  of  pines  five  miles  out  of  town.  The 
grove  was  now  three  miles  behind  her.  The  wash 
into  which  Jack  Murray  had  ridden  was  distant  not 


Hazel  Walton  49 

half  a  mile.  The  land  on  either  side  of  the  wash  had 
once  been  burnt  over  and  had  grown  up  in  brush  and 
scraggly  jack  pine. 

Of  the  pines  and  spruce  that  had  once  covered  the 
ground  surrounding  the  wash,  but  one  tall  gray  stub 
remained.  The  eye  of  the  beholder  was  naturally 
drawn  to  this  salient  characteristic  of  the  landscape, 
She  saw  more  than  the  stub.  She  saw  Jack  Murray's 
horse  tied  to  its  bole.  There  was  something  queer 
about  the  horse's  head.  Whereas  Jack  Murray's  horse 
when  it  passed  her  on  the  trail  had  been  a  sorrel  of  a 
solid  color,  the  head  was  now  whitey-gray. 

Hazel  was  not  of  an  abnormally  inquisitive  nature, 
but  that  a  horse's  head  should  change  color  within  the 
space  of  half  an  hour  was  enough  to  make  any  one  ask 
questions.  Ever  since  she  and  her  uncle  had  come  to 
realize  that  some  one  was  rustling  their  cattle,  neither 
of  them  ever  left  home  without  field  glasses.  Hazel 
pulled  her  pair  from  beneath  the  seat  cushion  and 
focused  them  on  the  odd-looking  horse. 

"  Why,  it's  a  flour  sack  over  the  horse's  head!  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  They  say  a  horse  won't  whinny  if  you 
cover  his  head.  I  wonder  why  Jack  doesn't  want  him 
to  whinny.  And  where  is  Jack?  " 

Two  minutes  later  she  found  Jack.  He  was  lying 
on  his  stomach  in  the  brush  behind  an  outcrop.  The 
outcrop  overlooked  the  trail.  Jack's  rifle  was  poked 
out  in  front  of  him.  It  was  only  too  obvious  that 
Jack  was  also  overlooking  the  trail.  Why? 

A  few  minutes  later  that  question  was  answered  by 
the  sudden  appearance  of  a  rider  at  a  berjd  of  the  trail 
a  mile  back.  Jack  Murray  must  have  glimpsed  the 


50          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

rider  at  the  same  time,  for  Hazel  saw  him  snuggle 
down  like  a  hare  in  its  form,  and  alter  slightly  the 
position  of  his  rifle,  although  the  rider  was  not  yet 
within  accurate  shooting  range.  With  a  gasp  she  rec- 
ognized the  rider  on  the  trail  by  his  high-crowned 
white  hat:  only  one  man  in  Golden  Bar  wore  such  a 
hat  and  that  man  was  Billy  Wingo.  Instantly  she  re- 
called what  folks  were  saying  of  Jack  Murray  since 
it  had  become  positively  known  that  the  party  nom- 
ination for  sheriff  had  gone  to  Billy  Wingo,  that  Jack 
Murray  "  had  it  in  "  for  Billy,  that  he  had  made 
threats  more  or  less  vague,  and  that  he  had  taken  to 
brooding  over  his  fancied  wrongs.  She  realized  that 
the  threats  had  crystallized  into  action,  and  that  this 
was  an  ambush. 

She  knew  that  Billy  would  be  masked  by  a  certain 
belt  of  trees  before  he  traveled  another  thirty  yards, 
not  to  emerge  into  view  again  till  he  topped  a  rise  of 
ground  about  a  thousand  yards  from  the  base  of  the 
hill  on  which  she  stood.  It  was  a  certainty  that  Jack 
would  not  risk  a  shot  till  his  enemy  had  crossed  the 
rise  of  ground.  If  Hazel  could  only  reach  the  top  of 
the  rise  first  — 

Hazel  popped  up  into  the  seat  of  the  buckboard  as 
Billy  reached  the  belt  of  trees.  It  has  been  shown  that 
Hazel  Walton  was  a  good  driver,  and  she  needed  every 
atom  of  her  skill  to  turn  the  buckboard  in  the  nar- 
row trail  without  smashing  a  wheel  against  the  rocks 
that  some  apparently  malign  agency  had  seen  fit  to 
strew  about  at  that  particular  spot.  The  near  mule, 
devil  that  he  was,  when  he  found  that  he  was  no 


Hazel  Walton  51 

longer  headed  for  home,  stuck  out  his  lower  lip  and 
front  legs  and  balked. 

This  was  unwise  of  the  near  mule.  He  should  have 
chosen  a  more  opportune  moment.  Hazel  had  no  time 
to  reason  with  him.  She  set  her  teeth,  slacked  the 
reins,  opened  her  jack-knife  and  jabbed  an  inch  and  a 
half  of  the  longer  blade  into  the  mule's  swelling  hip. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  recalcitrant  mule  ever 
moved  faster  in  his  life.  The  forward  spring  he 
gave  as  the  steel  perforated  his  thick  hide  almost 
snapped  the  doubletree.  Hazel,  her  toes  hooked  under 
the  iron  foot-rail,  poured  the  leather  into  the  off  mule. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  guide  her  galloping  team. 
She  did  not  need  to.  She  barely  felt  their  mouths,  but 
ever  she  kept  her  whip  going,  and  the  mules  laid  their 
bellies  to  the  ground  and  flew  down  that  hill  like 
frightened  jack  rabbits.  And  like  a  rubber  ball  the 
buckboard  bounced  behind  them. 

Hazel  knew  that  Jack  Murray  behind  his  outcrop 
must  hear  the  thunder  of  the  racing  hoofs,  the  rattle 
of  the  swooping  buckboard.  Half-way  down  the  hill 
she  lost  her  hat.  Promptly  every  hairpin  she  possessed 
lost  its  grip  and  her  hair  came  down.  In  a  dark  and 
rippling  cloud  it  streamed  behind  her. 

"  Keep  your  feet,  mules !  "  she  gritted  through  her 
locked  teeth.  "  Keep  your  feet,  for  God's  sake !  " 

And  they  kept  their  footing  among  the  rolling  stones, 
or  rather  a  merciful  Providence  kept  it  for  them.  For 
that  hill  was  commonly  a  hill  to  be  negotiated  with 
careful  regard  to  every  bump  and  hollow.  Hazel's  life 
was  in  jeopardy  every  split  second,  but  so  was  another 
life,  and  it  was  of  this  other  life  she  was  thinking. 


52          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Reach  that  white-hatted  rider  she  must  before  he  came 
within  thousand-yard  range   of  the  man  behind  the 

outcrop. 

Within  thousand-yard  range,  yes.  Jack  Murray's 
reputation  with  the  long  arm  was  of  territorial  propor- 
tions. He  had  made  in  practice,  hunting  and  open 
competition  almost  unbelievable  scores.  Given  any- 
thing like  a  fair  shot,  and  it  would  be  hard  if  he  could 
not  hit  an  object  the  size  of  Billy  Wingo.  All  this 
Hazel  Walton  knew,  and  her  heart  stood  still  at  the 
thought.  But  she  was  of  the  breed  that  fights  to  the 
last  breath  and  a  gasp  beyond. 

She  breathed  a  little  prayer,  dropped  her  right  hand 
on  the  reins  ahead  of  her  left  and  turned  the  team 
around  the  curve  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  as  neatly  as 
any  stage-driver  could  have  done  it.  That  they  swung 
round  on  a  single  wheel  did  not  matter  in  the  least. 
Beyond  the  curve  one  of  the  front  wheels  struck  a 
rock  that  lifted  Hazel  a  foot  in  the  air  and  shot  every 
single  package  and  the  tarpaulin  out  of  the  buckboard. 

And  now  the  road  passed  the  wash  and  ran  straight 
for  more  than  half  a  mile  till  it  disappeared  over  the 
rise  of  ground.  Throughout  the  whole  distance  it  was 
under  the  sharpshooting  rifle  of  the  man  behind  the 
outcrop. 

As  she  clung  to  the  pitching  buckboard  and  plied  the 
whip,  she  speculated  on  the  probability  of  Jack  Murray 
firing  on  her.  He  must  realize  her  purpose.  He  had 
been  called  many  things,  but  fool  was  not  one  of  them. 
He  might  even  shoot  her.  She  recalled  dim  stories  of 
Jack  Murray's  ruthlessness  and  grim  singleness  of  pur- 
pose. 


Hazel  Walton  53 

"  Bound  to  get  what  he  wants,  no  matter  how," 
men  had  said  of  him. 

Four  hundred  yards  from  the  curve  where  the  buck- 
board  had  so  nearly  upset,  a  Winchester  cracked  in  the 
rear.  The  near  mule  staggered,  tried  to  turn  a  somer- 
sault, and  collapsed  in  a  heap  of  sprawling  legs  and 
outthrust  neck.  The  off  mule  fell  on  top  of  his  mate, 
and  Hazel  catapulted  over  the  dashboard  and  landed 
head  first  on  top  of  the  off  mule. 

The  off  mule  regained  his  feet  with  a  snort  and  a 
lurch,  in  the  process  throwing  Hazel  into  a  squaw  bush. 
Dizzy  and  more  than  a  little  shaken,  that  young  woman 
scrambled  back  into  the  trail  and  feverishly  set  about 
unhitching  the  mule. 

She  heard  a  yell  from  the  direction  of  the  outcrop 
above  the  wash.  Fingers  busy  with  the  breast-strap 
snap,  she  looked  back  to  see  a  man  hurdle  the  outcrop 
and  plunge  toward  her  through  the  brush. 

"Wait!"  he  bawled.     "Wait!" 

Her  reply  to  this  command  was  to  spring  to  the 
tail  of  the  mule  and  shout  to  him  to  back.  He  backed. 
She  twitched  both  trace  cockeyes  out  of  the  singletree 
hooks  (she  was  using  the  wagon  harness  that  day) 
tossed  the  traces  over  the  mule's  back  and  ran  round 
in  front  to  unbuckle  the  dead  mule's  reins. 

"Halt  or  I  shoot!" 

She  giggled  hysterically.  How  could  she  halt  when 
she  had  not  yet  started?  She  freed  the  second  billet, 
tore  the  reins  through  the  terrets,  and  bunched  the 
reins  anyhow  in  her  left  hand.  He  was  a  tall  mule,  but 
she  swarmed  up  his  shoulder  by  means  of  collar  and 


54          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

h  nmes,  threw  herself  across  his  withers  and  besought 
him  at  the  top  of  her  lungs  to  "  Go!  Go!  Go!  " 

He  went.  He  went  as  the  saying  is,  like  a  bat  out 
of  hades.  Hazel  slipped  tailward  from  the  withers, 
settled  herself  with  knees  clinging  high,  and  whanged 
him  over  the  rump  with  the  ends  of  the  reins.  He 
hardly  needed  any  encouragement.  Her  initial  cry  had 
been  more  than  enough. 

The  man  in  the  brush  stopped.  He  raised  his  rifle 
to  his  shoulder,  looked  through  the  sights  at  the  gal- 
loping mule,  then  lowered  the  firearm  and  uttered  a 
heartfelt  oath.  It  had  at  last  been  borne  in  upon  his 
darkened  soul  that  he  possibly  had  made  a  mistake. 
Instead  of  shooting  the  mule,  in  the  first  place,  he 
might  better  have  relinquished  his  plan  of  ambush  and 
gone  his  way  in  peace.  There  were  other  places  than 
Golden  Bar,  plenty  of  them,  where  an  ,  enterprising 
young  man  could  get  along  and  bide  his  time  to  square 
accounts  with  his  enemy. 

But  the  killing  of  the  mule  had  fairly  pushed  the 
bridge  over.  It  was,  not  to  put  a  nice  face  on  it,  an 
attack  on  a  woman.  He  might  just  as  well  have  shot 
Hazel  —  better,  in  fact.  She  had  undoubtedly  recog- 
nized him.  Those  Waltons  both  carried  field  glasses, 
he  had  heard. 

"  I'll  get  the  mule  anyhow,"  he  muttered.  "  That'll 
put  a  crimp  in  her." 

He  dropped  on  one  knee  between  two  bushes,  took  a 
quick  sight  at  the  mule's  barrel  six  inches  behind  the 
girl's  leg  and  pulled  trigger.  Over  and  over  rolled 
the  mule,  and  over  and  over  a  short  foot  in  advance  of 
his  kicking  hoofs  rolled  Hazel.  Luckily  she  was  not 


Hazel  Walton  55 

stunned  and  she  rolled  clear.  She  scrambled  to  her 
feet  and  set  off  up  the  trail  as  fast  as  her  shaking  legs 
would  carry  her. 

"  Damn  her!  "  cursed  Jack  Murray,  notching  up  his 
back  sight.  "  I'd  oughta  drop  her !  She's  askin'  for 
it,  the  hussy!  " 

His  itching  finger  trembled  on  the  trigger,  but  he  did 
not  pull.  Reluctantly,  slowly,  he  lowered  the  Win- 
chester and  set  the  hammer  on  safety.  The  drink  was 
dying  out  in  him.  Against  his  will  he  rendered  the  girl 
the  tribute  of  unwilling  admiration.  "  Whatsa  use? 
She's  got  too  much  nerve;  but  maybe  I  can  get  him 
still." 

On  her  part  the  girl  pelted  on  up  the  rise,  stumbled 
at  the  top  and  came  down  heavily,  tearing  her  dress, 
bruising  her  knees  and  thoroughly  scratching  the  palms 
of  her  hands.  But  she  scrambled  to  her  feet  and  went 
on  at  a  hobbling  run,  for  she  saw  below  her,  rising  the 
grade  at  a  sharp  trot,  the  rider  of  the  white  hat. 

Now  she  was  waving  her  arms  and  trying  to  shout 
a  warning,  though  her  voice  stuck  in  her  throat  and 
she  was  unable  to  utter  more  than  a  low  croak. 

Billy  Wingo  pulled  up  at  sight  of  the  wild  apparition 
that  was  Hazel  Walton.  But  the  check  was  momen- 
tary. He  clapped  home  the  spurs  and  hustled  his 
horse  into  a  gallop.  He  and  Hazel  came  together  lit- 
erally, forty  yards  below  the  crest.  The  girl  seized 
his  stirrup  to  save  herself  from  falling  and  burst  into 
hysterical  tears. 

"  Lordy,  it's  the  girl  that  dropped  the  package !  " 
exclaimed  Billy,  dismounting  in  haste. 

He  had  his  arm  round  her  waist  in  time  to  prevent 


56          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

tar  falling  to  the  ground.  She  hung  limply  against 
him,  and  gasped  and  choked  and  sobbed  away  her 
varied  emotions. 

There,  there,"  he  said  soothingly,  patting  her  back 
and,  it  must  be  said,  marveling  at  the  length  and  thick- 
ness and  softness  and  shininess  of  her  midnight  hair. 
44  It's  all  right.  You're  all  right.  You're  all  right. 
Nothing  to  worry  about  —  not  a-tall.  You're  safe. 
Don't  cry.  Tell  me  what's  bothering  you?  " 

And  after  a  time,  when  she  could  speak  coherently, 
she  told  him. 

It  was  a  disconnected  narrative  and  spotty  with  gasps 
and  gurgles,  but  Billy  made  no  difficulty  of  compre- 
hending her  meaning.  They  who  can  construct  his- 
tory from  hoofmarks  in  the  dust  do  not  require  a 
clear  explanation. 

When  he  had  heard  enough  for  a  working  diagram 
he  plumped  her  down  behind  a  fortuitous  stone  and 
adjured  her  to  lie  there  without  moving,  which  order 
was  superfluous.  She  did  not  want  to  get  up  again  — 
ever. 

Billy  stepped  to  his  horse,  dragged  the  Winchester 
from  the  scabbard  under  the  near  fender  and  trotted 
to  the  top  of  the  rise.  Arrived  at  the  crest,  he  dropped 
his  hat  and  went  forward  crouchingly,  his  rifle  at  trail. 
Sheltering  his  long  body  behind  bushes  he  dodged 
z"gzaggingly  across  the  top  of  the  ridge  to  an  advan- 
tageous position  behind  a  wild  currant  bush  growing 
beside  a  jagged  boulder. 

He  lay  down  behind  the  wild  currant  bush  and  sur- 
veyed the  landscape  immediately  in  front  of  him.  At 
first  he  saw  nothing  —  then  two  hundred  yards  away 


Hazel  Walton  57 

on  his  right  front  a  sumac  suddenly  developed  an  amaz- 
ingly thick  shadow.  He  automatically  drew  a  fine 
sight  on  that  sumac. 

The  shadow  of  the  sumac  became  thin.  A  dark  ob- 
jected flitted  from  it  to  another  bush.  The  dark  object 
was  a  man's  head.  It  was  hatless.  Billy  smiled  and 
decided  to  wait.  He  understood  that  he  was  dealing 
with  a  man  who  could  shoot  the  buttons  off  his  shirt, 
but  on  the  other  hand,  Billy  did  not  think  meanly  of 
himself  as  a  still  hunter.  He  lay  motionless  behind 
the  currant  bush  and  watched  Jack  Murray's  advance. 

Billy  smiled  pityingly.  It  was  obvious  to  him  that 
Jack  Murray  had  never  been  on  a  man  hunt  before. 
If  he  had  he  would  have  been  more  careful. 

"  Good  Gawd,"  Billy  said  to  himself,  "  it's  like  tak- 
ing candy  from  a  child.1' 

It  was  destined  to  be  even  more  like  taking  candy 
from  a  child. 

Four  times  before  the  bold  Jack  reached  the  crest 
of  the  hill  he  offered  Billy  a  target  he  couldn't  miss. 
And  each  time  the  latter  refrained  from  shooting. 
Somehow  he  was  finding  it  difficult  to  shoot  an  uncon- 
scious mark.  If  Jack  had  been  shooting  at  him  or  had 
even  been  aware  of  his  presence,  it  would  have  been 
different.  But  to  shoot  him  now  was  too  much  like 
cold-blooded  murder.  There  was  nothing  of  the  bush- 
whacker in  the  Wingo  make-up. 

Suddenly  at  the  top  of  the  rise,  Jack  Murray  ducked 
completely  out  of  sight. 

"  Must  have  seen  the  horse,"  thought  Billy,  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder.  No,  it  was  not  the  horse. 


58          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Billy  was  on  higher  ground  than  was  Jack  and  he 
could  not  see  even  the  tips  of  his  mount's  ears. 

M  It  can't  be  my  hat  he  sees,"  Billy  told  himself. 

Evidently  it  was  the  hat,  for  while  Billy's  eyes  were 
on  the  hat,  a  rifle  cracked  where  Jack  Murray  lay 
hidden  and  the  hat  jumped  and  settled. 

"  Good  thing  my  head  ain't  inside,"  said  the  wholly 
delighted  Billy,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  smoke  shred- 
ding away  above  the  bushes  on  the  right  front.  "  I 
wonder  if  he  thinks  he  got  me." 

It  was  evident  that  Jack  Murray  was  wondering 
too.  For  the  crown  of  a  hat  appeared  with  Jack-in-the 
box  unexpectedness  at  the  right  side  of  the  bush  below 
the  smoke.  Experience  told  Billy  that  a  stick  was 
within  the  crown  of  the  hat  which  moved  so  temptingly 
to  and  fro. 

Three  or  four  minutes  later,  Jack  Murray's  hat  dis- 
appeared and  the  rifle  again  spoke. 

"  Another  hole  in  my  hat,"  Billy  muttered  resign- 
edly and  cuddled  his  rifle  stock  against  his  cheek. 
"He'll  wave  his  hat  again,  and  then  he'll  be  about 
ready  to  go  see  if  the  deer  is  venison." 

Even  as  he  foretold,  the  hat  appeared  and  was 
moved  to  and  fro,  and  raised  and  lowered,  in  order 
to  draw  fire.  Then,  peace  continuing  to  brood  over 
the  countryside,  the  hat  was  crammed  on  the  owner's 
head  and  the  owner,  on  hands  and  knees,  headed 
through  the  brush  toward  Billy's  hat. 

Billy  was  of  the  opinion  that  Jack  Murray's  course 
would  bring  him  within  ten  feet.  He  was  right.  Jack 
Murray  passed  so  close  that  Billy  could  have  reached 
forth  his  rifle  and  touched  him  with  the  muzzle.  In- 


Hazel  Walton  59 

stead  he  waited  till  Jack's  back  was  fairly  toward  him 
before  he  said,  "  Hands  up !  " 

Jack  Murray  possessed  all  the  wisdom  of  his  kind. 
He  dropped  his  rifle  and  tossed  up  his  hands. 

"  Stand  up.  No  need  to  turn  around,"  resumed 
Billy,  Riley  Tyler's  six-shooter  trained  on  the  small  of 
Jack's  back.  "  Lower  your  left  hand  slowly  and  work 
your  belt  down.  You  wear  it  loose.  It'll  drop  easy. 
And  while  you're  doing  it,  if  you  feel  like  gamblin' 
with  me,  remember  that  this  is  Riley's  gun  and  I 
ain't  used  to  it,  and  I  might  have  to  shoot  you  three 
or  four  times  instead  of  only  once,  y'  understand." 

Obviously  Jack  Murray  understood.  He  lowered 
his  left  hand  and  worked  his  gun-belt  loose  and  down 
over  his  hip  bone  with  exemplary  slowness.  The  shock 
of  his  capture  had  evaporated  the  last  effects  of  the 
liquor.  He  was  cold  sober  and  beginning  to  perceive 
the  supreme  folly  he  had  committed  in  shooting  a 
woman's  mount  from  under  her. 

"  One  step  ahead,"  directed  Billy  when  the  gun-belt 
was  on  the  ground.  "  And  up  with  that  left  hand." 

Jack  Murray,  thumbs  locked  together  over  his  head, 
stepped  out  of  the  gun-belt.  Billy  went  to  him,  rammed 
the  six-shooter  muzzle  against  his  spine  and  patted 
him  from  top  to  toe  in  search  of  possible  hide-outs. 
He  found  none  except  a  pocket  knife  which  did  not 
cause  him  apprehension. 

"  Le's  take  up  the  thread  of  our  discourse,"  said 
Billy,  "  farther  down  the  hill.  Walk  along,  cowboy, 
walk  along." 

With  Billy  carrying  both  rifles  and  Jack's  discarded 
gun-belt,  they  walked  along  downhill  to  where  Billy's 


60          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

pony  stood  in  a  three-cornered  doze.  It  was  then  that 
Jack  Murray  caught  sight  of  Hazel  Walton  lying  on 
her  back  behind  a  stone,  her  arms  over  her  face.  She 
looked  extremely  limp  and  lifeless. 

44 1  didn't  shoot  her!  "  cried  the  startled  Jack. 

44 1  know  you  didn't,  said  Billy.  "  The  lady's  restin', 
that's  all.  We'll  wait  till  she  feels  like  moving." 

Hazel  Walton  uncovered  her  face.  There  was  a 
large  and  purpling  lump  in  the  middle  of  her  forehead, 
the  skin  of  her  pretty  nose  was  scratched,  a  bruise 
defaced  one  cheek  bone,  and  one  eye  was  slightly 
black. 

44  Your  work,  you  polecat,"  Billy  declared  succinctly. 
44  You'll  be  lynched  for  mauling  her  like  that." 

But  Hazel  Walton  was  just.  She  sat  up,  supporting 
herself  by  an  arm,  and  dispelled  Billy's  false  impres- 
sion. 4t  He  never  touched  me  —  and  he  could  have 
shot  me  if  he'd  wanted  to." 

44  So  kind  of  him  not  to,"  said  Billy  with  sarcasm. 
14  Who  is  responsible  for  hurting  you  ?  Your  face  is 
bruises  all  over." 

14  Is  it?  "  she  said,  with  an  indifference  born  of  great 
weariness.  "  I  suppose  it  must  be.  I  remember  I  struck 
on  my  face  when  he  shot  the  mule  I  was  riding.  He  — 
he  shot  both  mules." 

11  He'll  be  lynched  for  that,  then,"  Billy  said  de- 
cisively. 

i4  Who'll  pay  for  the  mules?"  Hazel  wished  to 
know.  4<  We  needed  those  mules,"  she  added. 

Billy  nodded.  44  That's  so.  If  he's  lynched  for  this 
attack  on  you  —  your  mules  —  same  thing  if  you  know 


Hazel  Walton  61 

what  I  mean  —  you  lose  out  on  the  mules.  Maybe 
we  can  fix  it  up." 

"  Sure  we  can,"  Jack  Murray  spoke  up  briskly. 

"  I'm  not  talkin'  to  you,"  pointed  out  Billy.  "  What- 
ever fixing  up  there  is  to  do,  I'll  do  it.  You  have  done 
about  all  the  fixing  you're  gonna  do  for  one  while. 
Yeah.  I  came  out  after  you,  Jack,  to  make  you  a  bet- 
ter boy,  but  now  that  we  got  you  where  you'll  stand 
without  hitching,  I  can't  do  it.  I  ain't  got  the  heart. 
Of  course,  if  you  were  to  jump  at  me  or  something, 
or  make  a  dive  for  your  gun  I'm  holding,  I  don't  say 
but  I'd  change  my  mind  in  a  hurry.  I  kind  of  wish 
you  had  seen  me  back  there  a-lying  under  my  currant 
bush.  Then  we'd  have  had  it  out  by  this  time,  and 
I'd  be  going  back  to  town  for  a  shovel." 

"  Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that,"  snarled  Jack  Mur- 
ray. "  Just  you  gimme  my  gun  back,  and  I'll  show  you 
something." 

"  I'll  bet  you  would,"  acquiesced  Billy,  "  but  I'm 
keeping  your  guns,  both  of  'em.  I'd  feel  too  lonesome 
without  'em." 

"  Can't  you  do  nothing  but  flap  your  jaw?"  de- 
manded Jack  in  a  huff.  u  I'd  just  as  soon  be  downed 
outright  as  talked  to  death." 

"  But  you  haven't  any  choice  in  the  deal,"  Billy  told 
him  in  mild  surprise.  "  Not  a  choice.  You  shut  up. 
I'll  figure  out  what  to  do  with  you.  Y'understand, 
Jack,  I've  got  to  be  fair  to  Miss  Walton  too.  If  you're 
lynched  she  won't  get  paid  for  her  team,  and  I  can't 
have  her  losin'  a  fine  team  of  mules  thisaway  and  not 
have  a  dime  to  show  for  it.  That  would  never  do. 
Never.  Lessee  now.  You  got  any  money,  Jack?  " 


62          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"A  little." 
How  much?" 

44  Maybe  ten  or  twelve  dollars." 

44  Maybe  you've  got  more.  You  know  you  never 
were  good  at  figures.  Lemme  look." 

He  looked.  From  one  of  Jack  Murray's  hip  pockets 
he  withdrew  a  plump  leather  poke  that  gave  forth  a 
jingling  sound.  A  search  of  the  inner  pocket  of  the 
vest  produced  a  thin  roll  of  greenbacks.  But  the  bills 
were  all  of  large  denominations. 

44  There,"  said  Billy,  "  I  knew  you'd  made  a  mis- 
take in  addition,  Jack.  You  count  what's  here,  Miss 
Walton." 

He  tossed  the  greenbacks  and  the  heavy  poke  into 
the  lap  of  the  girl  who  was  now  sitting  up  cross-legged, 
her  back  against  the  rock. 

44  Sixteen  hundred  and  twelve  dollars  and  sixty-five 
cents,"  announced  Hazel  a  few  minutes  later. 

14  How  much  did  your  mules  cost?  "  queried  Billy. 

"  Five  hundred  and  a  quarter  the  team,"  was  the 
prompt  reply. 

44  Call  it  six  hundred,"  said  Billy  briskly.  44  It's 
only  right  for  you  to  take  something  at  an  auction 
thisaway.  Strip  off  six  hundred  dollars  worth  of  green- 
backs and  put  them  in  your  pocket." 

44  Oh,  I  wouldn't  feel  right  about  taking  more  than 
the  regular  price,"  demurred  Hazel. 

1  No  reason  why  you  shouldn't.  No  reason  a-tall. 
Jack's  only  paying  you  for  the  damage  he  did.  He's 
glad  to  pay.  Ain't  you,  Jack?  " 

11 1  suppose  so,"  grunted  Jack. 

4  There,  you  see.     Your  uncle  would  want  you  to. 


Hazel  Walton  63 

I  know  he  would.  In  fact,  he'd  be  a  heap  put  out  if 
you  didn't.  Those  bumps  of  your's  now.  What  do 
you  say  to  one  hundred  wheels  a  bump?  You  got 
three  bumps  and  a  scratched  nose.  Which  last  counts 
as  a  bump.  In  round  numbers  that  makes  four  hun- 
dred dollars.  One  thousand  dollars  to  you,  Miss 
Walton." 

"  Here !  "  cried  the  outraged  Jack  Murray. 
"  You're  robbin'  me !  You're  takin'  every  nickel  I 
got!" 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  denied  Billy,  "  and  don't  go  and  get 
excited  and  put  those  hands  down.  Don't  you,  now. 
About  that  money  —  the  worst  is  yet  to  come.  Young 
Riley  Tyler  not  being  here  to  assess  his  own  damages, 
I'll  assess  'em  for  him.  You  put  three  holes  in  Riley. 
Call  it  two  hundred  dollars  a  hole.  That  makes  six 
hundred  dollars.  Just  put  that  six  hundred  in  a  sepa- 
rate pile  for  Riley,  Miss  Walton." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  man  paying  for  the  mules,"  said 
Miss  Walton  firmly,  "  but  I  can't  take  any  money  for 
my  scratch  or  two." 

Billy  looked  at  her,  decided  she  meant  it  and  said: 

"  All  right,  put  that  four  hundred  with  Riley's  six. 
Riley  won't  mind." 

"  But  I  do !  "  shouted  Jack  Murray,  his  arms  quiver- 
ing with  rage.  "  You  can't  rob  me  thisaway.  By 
Gawd " 

"  Now,  now,"  Billy  cut  in  sharply,  "  no  swearing. 
You  forget  Miss  Walton.  You're  right  about  the 
money,  though.  I  can't  rob  you.  Miss  Walton,  dump 
all  that  money  back  in  the  poke  and  hand  it  to  him. 
He  wants  to  go  back  to  Golden  Bar  and  be  lynched." 


64          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  I  got  friends  in  Golden  Bar,"  blustered  the  pris- 
oner. 

"  None  of  'em  will  be  your  friends  after  I  tell  'em 
what  you  did  to  Miss  Walton,  Jack.  There's  a  preju- 
dice in  this  country  against  hurting  a  woman.  Folks 
don't  like  it.  Aw  right,  get  a-going,  feller.  No,  the 
other  way  —  toward  Golden  Bar." 

A  hearty  groan  wrenched  itself  from  the  depths  of 
Murray's  being.  "  Uncle !  Uncle  1  "  he  cried  angrily. 
44  Have  it  your  own  way.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the 
Bar.  Take  all  my  money  and  be  done  with  it." 

44 1  wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  declared  Billy, 
44  though  it  wouldn't  be  any  more  than  right  if  I  did. 
You're  getting  off  too  easy.  You'll  live  to  be  hung 
yet,  I'm  afraid,  but  I  can't  just  see  my  way  to  downing 
you  now  and  here.  No,  you  divide  the  money  again, 
Miss  Walton.  Six  hundred  for  you,  a  thousand  for 
Riley  and  twelve  dollars  and  sixty-five  cents  tobacco 
money  for  this  gentleman.  —  Don't  bother  reaching 
for  the  money,  Jack.  I'll  put  it  in  your  pocket.  There 
you  are.  Now,  Miss  Walton,  if  you'll  wait  here  while 
I  get  this  citizen  started  —  You've  got  a  horse  some- 
where, I  expect,  Jack.  Lead  the  way." 

44  Oh,  sure  I  saw  him  off  all  right.  I  don't  guess 
he'll  be  back  for  a  while  —  not  if  he  has  brains.  You 
know,  I  owe  you  a  lot,  Miss  Walton.  You  did  the 
bravest  thing  I  ever  knew  a  man  or  woman  to  do. 
You  gambled  your  life  to  save  mine.  You  might  have 
been  killed,  you  know  it?  And  after  me  getting  fresh 
there  in  the  street,  I  dunno  what  to  say,  I  don't." 

He  knew  that  he  was  talking  too  much.     But  in  the 


Hazel  Walton  65 

reaction  that  had  set  in  he  was  so  embarrassed  that 
it  hurt. 

"Yeah!"  he  gabbled  on,  red  to  the  ears,  "  you 
certainly  are  a  wonder.  I  —  uh  —  I  guess  we  better 
be  getting  back  to  town.  You  feel  able  to  ride  now? 
My  horse  is  gentle.  Besides,  I'll  lead  him." 

It  was  then  that  reaction  set  in  for  Hazel  Walton. 
As  the  strain  on  her  nerves  eased  off,  everything  went 
black  before  her  eyes  and  she  keeled  over  sidewise  in 
a  dead  faint. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

JACK  MURRAY  OBJECTS 

"  You  hadn't  oughta  shot  the  girl's  mules,"  said  fat 
Sam  Larder,  shaking  a  reproving  head  at  disconsolate 
Jack  Murray. 

The  latter  endeavored  to  defend  himself.  "  I  was 
drunk." 

"  That's  no  excuse,"  averred  Felix  Craft.  "  You 
had  no  business  picking  a  fight  with  young  Riley  in  the 
first  place.  He's  a  popular  lad,  that  one,  and  you 
ain't." 

"  He  made  me  mad,  setting  there  in  the  sun  joking 
with  that  damn  Bill  Wingo  who's  gonna  be  sheriff 
in  my  place.  Besides,  I  was  drunk." 

"  I  saw  the  whole  affair,"  said  Sam  Larder.  "  Bill 
pushed  Riley  off  the  cracker  box  and  you  had  to  slur 
Riley  about  it.  Fool  caper." 

"  I  never  did  like  Riley,"  grumbled  Jack  Murray. 
"  He's  a  friend  of  Bill  Wingo's  and  that's  enough.  I 
figured  by  downin'  Riley  and  skippin'  out  and  lettin' 
that  stage  hostler  know  where  I  was  going,  Bill  Wingo 
would  come  pelting  after  and  gimme  a  chance  to  settle 
with  him  all  salubrious  and  private  on  the  trail  some- 
wheres." 

Sam  Larder  bluntly  called  the  spade  by  its  correct 
name.  "  Bushwhack  him,  you  mean." 


Jack  Murray  Objects  67 

*  Well,  if  I  did,  it's  none  of  your  business/1  snapped 
Jack  Murray  with  an  evil  glance. 

"  Then  why  make  it  our  business  by  coming  here 
bellyaching  to  me  and  Craft?  "  Sam  Larder  wished 
to  know. 

"  I  came  to  you  because  I  want  my  money — sixteen 
hundred  dollars  that  bandit  Bill  Wingo  stole  off  me." 

"  He  didn't  say  anything  about  any  sixteen  hun- 
dred," said  Felix  Craft,  his  eyes  beginning  to  gleam. 
"  Tell  us  about  it." 

"  Yeah,"  urged  Sam.     "  Give  it  a  name." 

Jack  proceeded  to  give  it  a  name  —  several  names 
and  all  profane.  When  he  was  calmer  he  gave  a  fairly 
truthful  account  of  the  financial  transaction  between 
Hazel  Walton,  Bill  Wingo  and  himself. 

u  And  I'm  telling  you  here  and  now,"  he  said  in 
conclusion,  "  that  six  hundred  dollars  is  too  much  for 
that  broken-down  team  of  jacks.  And  a  thousand  dol- 
lars for  putting  a  few  holes  in  Riley  Tyler  is  plumb 
ridiculous.  My  Gawd,  he'll  be  out  of  bed  in  a  month. 
Wha'  t'ellyou  laughin'  at?" 

For  his  hearers  were  laughing  —  laughing  immod- 
erately. They  whooped,  they  pounded  the  table,  they 
beat  each  other  on  the  back  till  they  sank  exhausted 
into  their  chairs. 

Jack  demanded  again  to  be  told  what  they  were 
laughing  at. 

"  I'll  leave  it  to  anybody  if  this  ain't  the  funniest 
thing  ever  happened  in  the  territory,"  declared  Sam 
Larder,  when  he  could  speak  with  coherence. 

Felix  Craft  nodded.  "  Sure  is.  One  on  you  all 
right,  Jack." 


68          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Aw,  hell,  you  fellers  can't  make  a  monkey  out 
of  me." 

"  Bill  Wingo  seems  to  have  done  that  pretty  thor- 
oughly," said  Sam  Larder  with  a  fat  man's  giggle. 

"  I'm  not  through  with  him  yet,"  snarled  Jack 
Murray. 

"Where's  your  sense  of  humor?"  grinned  Felix. 
"  If  you'll  take  my  advice  you'll  walk  round  Bill  Wingo 
like  he  was  a  swamp.  Ain't  you  had  enough?  " 

"I  want  my  money  back!  "  squalled  the  indignant 
Jack. 

Sam  Larder  kissed  the  tips  of  his  plump  fingers. 
"  The  money's  gone.  Can't  do  anything  about  it  now. 
Can  we,  Crafty?" 

"  Don't  see  how." 

Jack  sat  up  stiffly,  his  face  red  with  rage.  "  You 
fellers  mean  to  tell  me  you're  gonna  let  me  be  robbed 
of  sixteen  hundred  dollars?" 

Felix  Craft  spread  eloquent  hands.  "  What  can  we 
do?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  friends  of  mine,"  disgustedly. 

;<  We  are,"  Sam  hastened  to  assure  him.  "  If  we 
weren't  we'd  have  called  in  the  sheriff  long  ago." 

"  What's  the  sheriff  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

11  He's  got  a  warrant  for  your  arrest  —  for  assault 
and  battery,  malicious  mischief,  and  assault  with  in- 
tent to  kill.  Besides,  the  folks  hereabout  have  got  it 
in  for  you.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  hang  you 
—  give  'em  half  a  chance." 

u  I  know  they  would,  damn  'em,  but  as  long  as  they 
don't  see  me  they  can't  lynch  me,  and  they  ain't  likely 


Jack  Murray  Objects  69 

to  see  me  here  in  your  house,  Felix.  But  I  don't  like 
the  idea  of  that  warrant." 

"  I  suppose  not/'  said  Felix.  "  A  warrant  follows 
you  all  over  while  a  necktie  party  generally  stays  close 
to  home.  And  no  matter  what  the  present  sheriff  does, 
I  got  an  idea  Bill  won't  forget  that  warrant  any  after 
he  takes  office  —  Yeah,  I  know,  cuss  him  out  by  all 
means,  but  after  all,  what  are  you  gonna  do  about 
it?" 

"  I  didn't  think  he'd  swear  out  a  warrant,"  said  Jack. 

Felix  tendered  his  mite.  "  There's  a  reward  offered 
too." 

A  warrant  was  bad  enough,  but  a  reward!  Many 
people  would  be  on  the  lookout  to  earn  such  easy 
money. 

Jack  Murray  felt  an  odd  and  sinking  sensation  in 
the  region  of  his  stomach.  "  How  much  is  it?  " 

"Only  three  thousand  dollars." 

"  Only,  huh.     Only?    Who's  puttin'  up  the  cash?" 

"  Riley  Taylor  put  his  name  down  for  a  thousand 
and  Hazel's  uncle,  Tom  Walton,  added  six  hundred, 
and " 

"  Why,  that  sixteen  hundred  is  my  own  money!" 
interrupted  Jack  Murray. 

"  I  expect  so,"  continued  Felix.  "  The  other  four- 
teen hundred  was  made  up  around  the  town." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  tell  me  you  fellers  put  it  up  your- 
selves," said  the  sarcastic  Mr.  Murray,  who  did  not 
expect  any  such  thing. 

"Sure  we  did,"  said  Felix.  "We  had  to.  Bill 
Wingo  and  Sam  Prescott  and  Wildcat  Simms  brought 
the  paper  round,  and  we  had  to  sign  up.  I'll  be  out  a 


70          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

hundred  if  you're  caught,  Sam  two  hundred,  Tip  a 
hundred,  Rafe  the  same,  and  that's  the  way  it  went. 
Even  the  district  attorney  chipped  in  his  ante." 

Jack  Murray  was  too  horrified  to  speak  for  a  minute. 
While  he  wrestled  with  his  thoughts  Sam  Larder 
spoke. 

"  You  see,  Jack,"  said  he,  "  we  had  to  sit  in.  If  we 
hadn't,  everybody  would  have  said  we  sympathized 
with  you,  and  we  couldn't  afford  that  —  not  with  elec- 
tions coming  on.  It  would  never  do.  Never.  You  see 
how  it  is,  I  guess." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Jack  bitterly.  "  I  see  all  right. 
I  see  you've  skun  me  between  you.  That  damn  re- 
ward will  make  me  leave  the  territory  for  a  while." 

"  Most  sensible  thing  you  could  do,"  declared  Sam 
Larder  warmly.  "  We  don't  want  to  see  you  get  into 
any  trouble,  Jack.  You're  young.  Starting  somewhere 
else  won't  be  a  hardship  for  you  a-tall.  We'll  be  sorry 
to  lose  you,"  he  concluded  thoughtfully. 

44  You  ain't  lost  me  yet,"  Jack  snapped  back.  "  I 
may  pull  out  for  awhile,  but  I'll  be  back.  You  bet 
I'll  be  back,  and  when  I  do  come  back  I'll  sure  make 
Bill  Wingo  hard  to  find." 

44  Don't  yell  so  loud,"  Sam  cautioned  him,  "  or  you 
may  have  the  opportunity  sooner  than  you  want  it. 
You  hadn't  oughta  come  here,  anyhow.  You  dunno 
whether  you  were  seen  or  not." 

44  And  you  don't  want  to  get  a  bad  name,  I  expect," 
sneered  Jack  Murray. 

4  You  expect  right,"  Felix  Craft  said  with  candid 
bluntness. 

4  You  see,  we  ain't  been  openly  connected  with  any 


Jack  Murray  Objects  71 

scandal  yet/'  contributed  Sam  Larder,  glancing  at  the 
clock,  uand  while  it  ain't  daylight  yet,  still  —  "  He 
paused  meaningly. 

*  You  want  me  to  drag  it,  huh?  "  growled  Jack. 

''  We-ell,  maybe  you'd  better,"  admitted  Sam. 

"  If  fifty  dollars  would  do  you  any  good,  here  it  is," 
said  Felix,  thrusting  a  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket. 

Jack  Murray  spat  on  the  floor.  "  T'ell  with  your 
money.  I  know  who  ain't  my  friends  now,  all  right, 
and  you  can  gamble  I'm  a-going  right  quick.  See  you 
later." 

So  saying,  Jack  Murray  rose  and  left  them.  He 
was  careful  to  close  the  door  quietly.  When  he  was 
gone,  Sam  grinned  at  Felix.  The  latter  broke  anew 
into  laughter. 

"  His  own  money!"  crowed  Felix  Craft.  "His 
own  money  offered  as  a  reward!  If  that  ain't " 

But  what  it  was,  was  drowned  in  the  bellowing  cackle 
of  Sam  Larder. 

Billy  Wingo  removed  his  hat  and  stuck  a  brown  head 
round  the  corner  of  the  door  jamb.  u  Hello,  Hazel !  " 

"  'Lo,  Billy,"  said  Hazel  Walton,  breaking  another 
egg  into  the  mixture  of  sugar  and  shortening  in  the 
yellow  bowl.  "Chase  that  sprucy  chicken  out,  will 
you,  there's  a  dear." 

Billy  did  not  misunderstand.  He  had  discovered 
that  Hazel  called  any  friend  "  dear."  It  was  her  way 
of  showing  her  liking,  that  was  all.  Nevertheless, 
the  appellation  never  failed  to  give  him  a  warm  feel- 
ing that  felt  pleasant  around  his  heart.  He  shooed 
out  the  marauding  and  molting  Wyandotte  and  then 


72          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

sat  down  on  the  doorstep  and  regarded  Hazel  with 
approving  eyes. 

And  Hazel  Walton  was  undoubtedly  good  to  look  at 
as  she  stood  there  behind  the  kitchen  table,  stirring 
with  a  great  spoon  the  contents  of  the  yellow  bowl. 
There  were  dimples  in  her  pretty  elbows  that  matched 
the  one  in  her  cheek.  Billy  could  not  see  the  ones  in 
her  elbows,  but  he  knew  they  were  there.  Her  eyes 
were  downcast.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen  such 
long  lashes.  The  eyebrows  were  slim  and  perfect 
crescents.  The  round  chin  was  made  for  the  palm 
of  a  man's  hand.  But  her  hair,  —  that  was  what  Billy 
admired  most  of  all.  It  was  so  heavy  and  thick.  There 
was  a  bit  of  a  wave  in  it,  too.  And  it  always  looked 
neat  and  tidy.  There  were  never  any  uscolding  locks" 
at  the  nape  of  her  neck,  as  there  were  on  other  necks 
that  had  come  under  his  eye.  But  he  was  not  in  love 
with  her.  Oh,  no,  not  he.  After  his  latest  turn- 
down by  Sally  Jane,  he  had  made  a  resolve  not  to  fall 
in  love  again,  ever.  But  there  was  no  harm  in  going 
to  see  a  girl.  How  could  there  be  ?  Quite  so. 

4  Your  uncle  home?"  he  asked  after  a  cigarette 
had  been  constructed  and  lit. 

"  He'll  be  in  for  dinner,"  replied  Hazel,  with  a 
swift  flash  of  dark  eyes.  "  And  there  I  was  hoping  all 
along  you  had  come  to  see  me." 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  too." 

4  Me  too  is  worse,  lots  worse.  Shows  what  an 
afterthought  I  am.  Life's  an  awful  thing  for  a  girl." 

14  I'll  bet  it  is.  For  you  especially.  This  is  the  first 
time  I  ever  came  here  that  some  one  else  wasn't  here 
ahead  of  me.  Usually  a  feller  has  to  fight  his  way 


Jack  Murray  Objects  73 

through  a  whole  herd  in  order  to  say  good  evening  to 
you/' 

Hazel  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  looked  at  him 
demurely.  "  They  come  to  see  Uncle  Tom." 

"  Which  is  why  they  spend  all  their  time  talkin' 
to  you." 

Hazel  smiled.  "  I  feed  'em.  I'm  a  good  cook,  if 
I  do  say  it  myself.  Stay  to  dinner,  William  ?  " 

"  Not  after  that,"  he  told  her  firmly.  "  I  don't 
want  another  meal  here  long's  I  live." 

"  Just  you  let  me  catch  you  sloping  out  before  din- 
ner's over  and  done  with,  and  I'll  never  speak  to  you 
again  as  long  as  /  live.  Besides,  I  want  you  to  go  fill 
the  waterbucket  for  me  in  about  ten  minutes,  and  after 
dinner  I  need  some  help  in  the  chicken-house,  and  Uncle 
is  busy  this  afternoon.  So  you  stay  and  be  mother's 
li'l  helper,  Bill,  won't  you?  " 

"  Putting  it  thataway,"  said  Bill,  "  what  can  a  poor 
man  do?"  Here  he  licked  his  lips  cat  fashion  and 
added  "  Is  that  cake  for  dinner?  " 

"  Of  course  not,  you  simple  thing.  Here  it  is  half- 
past  eleven  and  the  cake  not  even  mixed  yet.  I've  got 
a  dried-peach  pie  though.  It's  outside  cooling.  And 
there'll  be  fried  ham,  Bill,  and  corn  fritters  —  the 
batter's  all  ready  in  that  blue  bowl.  Lima  beans,  too, 
the  last  you'll  see  this  year." 

"  I  saw  some  young  ones  for  another  crop  on  the 
vines  when  I  came  through  the  garden,"  said  Billy, 
who  was  no  farmer. 

Hazel  smiled  pityingly.  "  The  frost  will  kill  'em 
before  they  get  a  chance  to  ripen.  It  can't  hold  off 


74          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

much  longer.  Do  you  realize  it's  nearly  October,  Bill? 
We  almost  had  frost  last  night." 

"  Winter's  coming." 

"  Election  will  be  here  first.  Uncle  Tom  says  you're 
sure  to  be  elected.  My,  how  important  you'll  be. 
Will  you  speak  to  a  feller  then,  Bill?  " 

"  I  might.  You  never  can  tell.  Seen  Riley  lately?  " 
—  elaborately  casual. 

"  Saw  him  last  Sunday.  To  look  at  him  now  you'd 
never  know  he'd  been  shot,  would  you?  He's  coming 
to  dinner  to-day  —  has  some  business  with  Uncle 
Tom." 

"  Yeah,  like  the  rest  of  'em.  Fen  dubs  on  the 
chicken-house.  You  said  I  could  help  you  with  that, 
remember." 

Hazel  nodded.     uHere  comes  Riley  ncfw." 

"  No,"  said  Billy,  when  Riley,  having  put  his  horse 
in  the  corral,  made  as  if  to  step  over  him.  "  You  stay 
right  here.  She's  busy.  She  doesn't  want  a  long,  lazy 
lump  like  you  clutterin'  up  her  nice  clean  kitchen. 
Sidown  on  the  step  next  mine.  I  don't  care  how  close 
you  sit." 

"  But  I  do,"  returned  Riley,  seating  himself  opposite 
his  friend.  "Last  time  I  sat  next  you  I  lost  my  to- 
bacco. Good  thing  my  watch  wasn't  on  that  side." 

"  Shucks,  that  watch!  "  Bill  said  scornfully.  "  It 
was  good  maybe  when  your  grandad  had  it.  It  must 
have  cost  him  two  dollars  easy." 

"  Alia  same,  that's  a  good  watch."  Riley  returned 
tranquilly.  "  It  only  loses  thirty  minutes  a  day  now 
since  I  had  it  fixed.  Say,  Hazel,  lemme  throw  this 


Jack  Murray  Objects  75 

jigger  out,   will  you?     He's   only  sliming  round   to 
mooch  a  bid  to  dinner." 

"  I've  asked  him  to  stay,"  smiled  Hazel,  "  but  I 
don't  remember  saying  anything  about  it  to  you." 

4  You  didn't.  I  said  I  was  coming.  Here  I  am. 
What's  fairer  than  that,  I'd  like  to  know?  As  I  was 
sayin'  before  you  interrupted,  I  saw  you  out  ridin'  last 
Sunday." 

"  Did  you?"  indifferently. 

"  Yeah  —  with  that  nice  old  Samson  man." 

"  He's  not  old,"  Hazel  denied  vigorously,  "  and 
anyway,  he's  nice." 

"  He  gives  her  lollypops,"  Riley  confided  to  Billy, 
"  and  sometimes  as  much  as  half-a-pound  of  chalklet 
creams.  Oh,  he's  a  prince." 

Hazel  stamped  a  small  foot.  "  It  wasn't  half-a- 
pound.  It  was  —  it  was  —  "  Her  voice  dwindled 
away. 

"  Say  a  pound,"  offered  Billy,  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  the  thing,  "  and  that's  a  generous  estimate." 

"  Almost  as  generous  as  Samson,"  grinned  Riley. 
"  Hazel,  go  easy  on  the  poor  old  feller.  He  can't 
afford  to  be  givin'  you  expensive  presents  like  that." 

"Sure  not,"  slipped  in  Billy.  "  Why,  I  don't  be- 
lieve Samson  makes  a  bit  more  than  fifty  per  cent  on 
everything  he  sells." 

"  You  two  think  you're  smart,  don't  you.  He's  a 
nice  man,  Mr.  Samson  is,  and  he  spends  an  evening 
here  quite  often." 

"  He  never  spends  anything  else,"  said  Billy. 

"  Cheap  wit,"  flung  back  Hazel. 

"  Almost  as  cheap  as  Samson,"  tucked  in  Riley. 


76          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Hazel's  eyes  were  beginning  to  sparkle,  and  Billy 
seized  his  opportunity.  "  Here,  here,  Riley,  stop  it! 
Don't  you  lemme  hear  you  making  any  more  slurs 
against  Mr.  Samson.  He's  a  friend  of  mine, 
and " 

41  Oh,  you!"  cried  Hazel,  instantly  regaining  her 
good  humor.  uYou're  as  bad  as  Riley,  every  bit.  But 
you  almost  did  get  a  rise  out  of  me.  I  don't  like  to 
hear  my  friends  run  down." 

"  I  didn't  mean  it  —  anything,"  said  Riley,  with 
well-feigned  humbleness.  "  I  like  Samson,  I  do,  the 
poor  old  good-for-nothing  lump  of  slumgullion." 

Billy  shook  a  sorrowful  head.  "  Honest,  Hazel, 
I'm  ashamed  of  you,  robbing  the  grave  thataway." 

"  I  don't  believe  he's  much  over  sixty,  Bill,"  said 
Riley. 

"  Say  sixty-one." 

"  He's  forty-one,  if  you  must  know,"  Hazel  said. 

"  I  knew  it  was  getting  serious,"  mourned  Billy. 
4  They're  exchanging  birthdays.  We'll  have  to  find  us 
a  new  girl,  Riley." 

"  Not  me.  I'm  satisfied.  I'll  stick  to  the  last  shout 
and  a  li'l  beyond.  Hazel's  only  fooling  these  other 
fellers.  I'll  make  her  the  best  husband  in  four  coun- 
ties, and  she's  the  girl  that  knows  it.  Don't  you, 
Hazel?" 

14  I'm  not  that  hard  up,"  replied  the  girl,  with  a 
smile  that  belied  the  harshness  of  her  words. 

"  There,  you  hear?  "  chuckled  Billy.  "  Now  you'll 
be  good,  I  guess." 

14  If  you  won't  have  me  for  the  twenty-fourth  time 
hand-running,  why  not  take  Bill  here?  He's  a  good 


Jack  Murray  Objects  77 

feller,  don't  drink  much,  and  he's  got  a  heart  of  gold 
and  a  brand  of  his  own  —  six  horses  and  one  calf  at 
the  last  round-up.  Besides,  if  all  that  ain't  enough, 
he's  gonna  be  our  next  sheriff.  What  more  could  a 
girl  want?  " 

"  She'd  want  him  to  ask  her  first,"  said  Hazel,  not 
a  whit  put  out. 

Riley  turned  to  Billy  in  mock  surprise.  "  Ain't  you 
asked  her  yet,  Bill?  Shucks,  whatsa  matter  with  you? 
You  make  me  sick,  and  she  don't  like  it  either.  G'on  — 
propose.  I'm  with  you.  We  all  are.  And  she  ex- 
pects it,  can't  you  see  ?  G'on,  Tommy  Tucker,  sing  for 
your  supper." 

But  Tommy  Tucker  firmly  refused  to  sing.  Instead 
he  seized  the  jibing  Mr.  Tyler  by  the  ankle  and  skidded 
him  off  the  step. 

uOw-wow!  You  poor  flap!"  bawled  the  erst- 
while humorist,  who  had  picked  up  a  splinter.  "  Leg- 
go  my  leg,  or  I'll  roll  you!  " 

But  it  was  Riley  Tyler  who  was  rolled,  and  rolled 
thoroughly. 

"  You  boys  stop  that!  "  directed  Hazel,  appearing 
in  the  doorway  with  a  bucket.  "  Acting  just  like  over- 
grown kids!  You  ought  to  be  ashamed!  Bill,  I'll 
take  that  bucket  of  water  now,  and  Riley,  how  about 
fetching  in  an  armful  of  wood  for  your  auntie?  " 

The  two  men  started  to  obey,  but  stopped  short  in 
their  tracks. 

Billy  cocked  a  listening  ear.   "  Wasn't  that  a  shot?  " 

"  Down  the  draw,"  responded  Riley. 

"  Near  the  Hillsville  trail,"  was  Hazel's  opinion. 
"  There  goes  another,  and  another." 


78          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"It's  no  hunter,"  declared  Billy.  "I  can  hear 
horses  galloping." 

Within  five  minutes  they  three  saw  a  horse  come 
galloping.  He  was  tearing  up  the  draw.  The  man 
on  his  back  was  half-turned  about  in  the  saddle,  a  rifle 
at  his  shoulder.  He  fired.  They  could  not  see  what 
he  was  firing  at.  There  was  a  bend  in  the  draw  con- 
cealing what  was  behind  him. 

But  they  could  hear  the  galloping  of  the  other  horses 
quite  plainly.  The  drum  of  the  racing  hoofs  grew 
louder.  Three  horses  swept  round  the  bend  in  the 
draw.  They  were  followed  by  two  others.  The  pur- 
suers uttered  a  yell  as  they  sighted  the  house.  The 
pursued  fired  twice  without  effect.  There  was  a  crackle 
of  shots  from  the  five  horsemen.  Apparently  none 
took  effect  on  either  the  pursued  or  his  mount. 

Billy  regarded  the  pursued's  mount  with  critical  eyes. 
"  That  horse  is  about  done." 

"  Yeah,"  acquiesced  Riley.  "  Not  another  mile  left 
in  him." 

It  was  but  too  evident  that  the  horse  was  in  distress. 
He  rolled  a  little  in  his  stride.  Once  he  stumbled. 
The  rider  caught  him  up  with  a  jerk.  The  man  turned 
a  desperate,  determined  face  toward  the  house  in  the 
draw  ahead  of  him.  He  was  not  fifty  yards  from  the 
house.  The  draw  was  wide.  He  sheered  his  horse 
to  one  side.  The  animal  staggered,  crossed  his  legs 
and  turned  a  complete  somersault.  The  rider  flew 
from  the  saddle,  turned  over  in  the  air  and  struck  hard 
on  his  head  and  right  shoulder.  The  horse  lurched 
to  his  feet  and  stood  trembling.  The  man  lay  still. 

The  pursuing  horsemen  were  coming  along  at  their 


Jack  Murray  Objects  79 

tightest  licks,  but  it  was  Billy  and  Riley  Tyler  who 
were  the  first  to  reach  the  fallen  man.  Hazel,  kilting 
her  skirt  in  both  hands,  had  run  with  them. 

Billy  stooped  and  turned  over  the  sprawled-out  citi- 
zen. The  man,  a  square-jawed  youngster  with  a  stub- 
by brown  mustache,  lay  breathing  heavily.  His  sun- 
burnt skin  was  a  little  white.  Hazel  pushed  Billy  to 
one  side  and  sat  down  beside  the  young  fellow. 

"  Let  me,"  she  said  quietly,  and  took  his  head  in  her 
lap.  "  Riley,  get  me  some  water  quick  and  the  whisky 
bottle  on  the  shelf  over  the  fireplace." 

Riley  darted  toward  the  house. 

The  five  riders  dashed  up  and  flung  themselves  from 
their  saddles.  They  were  Raf e  Tuckleton,  Jonesy,  the 
Tuckleton  foreman,  Ben  Shanklin  and  two  more  of  the 
Tuckleton  outfit.  Billy  faced  them,  his  thumbs  hooked 
in  his  sagging  belt. 

"  Caught  him !  "  Raf  e  ejaculated  with  satisfaction, 
striding  forward,  his  men  at  his  heels. 

"  He  don't  look  shot  any,"  said  Jonesy. 
."  Not  a  hole  in  him,"  Billy  told  them.     "  He'll  be 
all  right  in  a  minute." 

Tuckleton  laughed  harshly.  "  He's  due  for  a 
relapse  about  a  minute  after  that.  Jonesy,  get  your 
rope.  That  spruce  up  there  on  the  flat  will  be  fine." 

Hazel  uttered  a  gasp  of  horror. 

"What  do  you  expect  to  hang  him  for,  Rafe?" 
demanded  Billy. 

"  Caught  him  branding  one  of  my  calves,"  was  the 
ugly  reply.  "  Reason  enough?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  "  cried  Hazel. 

"  You  know  him?  "     Rafe  inquired  contemptuously. 


8o          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

44 1  never  saw  him  before  in  my  life.  But  he  doesn't 
look  like  a  rustler.  He's  got  a  good  face." 

The  Tuckleton  outfit  was  moved  to  mirth. 

44  A  good  face !  "  yelped  the  fox-faced  Ben  Shanklin, 
slapping  his  leg.  "  A  good  face  !  That's  a  fine  one  !  " 

44 1  expect  we'll  have  to  turn  him  loose,  boys,"  Jonesy 
said  sarcastically,  returning  from  his  horse,  and  shak- 
ing out  the  coil  of  rope. 

44  Oh,  I  guess  we'll  string  him  up  all  right,"  Rafe 
said  with  confidence. 

44  Don't  let  them,  Billy!  "  begged  Hazel. 

Billy  made  instant  decision.      44  'Nds  up!  " 

Which  command  was  backed  by  a  six-shooter  trained 
on  the  center  of  Rafe's  abdomen.  The  way  the  Tuck- 
leton hands  flew  upward  and  locked  thumbs  above  the 
Tuckleton  hat  was  gratifying.  But  the  Tuckleton  face 
was  empurpled  with  rage. 

44  Of  course,"  remarked  Billy,  44one  of  you  may  hit 
me,  but  if  I  go  Rafe  goes  with  me." 

44  It's  all  right,  boys,"  Rafe  assured  his  hesitating 
followers  in  a  voice  thick  with  anger.  "  Lemme  argue 
this  thing." 

4  There'll  be  no  hanging  here,"  said  Billy. 
4  You  bet  not!  "  chimed  in  the  voice  of  Riley  Tyler 
from  a  position  thirty  yards  distant  on  the  right. 

Riley  had  returned  with  the  water  and  whisky.  He 
had  been  sufficiently  thoughtful  to  bring  with  him  a 
double-barreled  shotgun.  He  stood,  the  firearm  held 
level  with  his  hip,  the  blunt  twin  muzzles  gaping  at  the 
Tuckleton  outfit. 

14  Hazel,"  said  Riley,  <4 1  wanna  borrow  this  shot- 
gun for  a  few  minutes.  I  found  it  leaning  inside  the 


Jack  Murray  Objects  81 

door.  Ben,  I  wish  you'd  come  over  here  and  take  this 
water  and  whisky  to  the  lady.  I'm  stuck  here,  sort  of." 

"  You  go  ahead,  Ben,"  said  Billy.  "  Don't  lemme 
detain  you." 

Ben  went  slowly.  He  plumped  whisky  and  bucket 
on  the  ground  beside  Hazel  and  then  began  to  sidle 
casually  toward  the  house. 

"  You  come  right  back,"  urged  Riley,  gesturing  with 
the  shotgun.  "  The  best  place  for  you  is  right  beside 
Jonesy.  He's  gettin'  lonesome  for  you  already,  ain't 
you,  Jonesy?  " 

Jonesy  spat  upon  the  ground.  Ben  slouched  back 
to  his  comrades.  While  this  byplay  had  been  going  on, 
Tuckleton  had  been  talking  at  Billy. 

"  Would  you  mind  repeating  all  that?  "  said  Billy, 
when  Ben  had  rejoined  the  group  at  Rafe's  back.  "  I 
didn't  catch  some  of  it." 

Tuckleton  glared,  his  little  eyes  hot  with  rage.  "  I 
said  that  man's  a  cow  thief  and  we're  gonna  stretch 
him!" 

"  But  you  said  that  at  first,"  pointed  out  Billy. 
"  And  I  said  'no'  then.  I  haven't  changed  my  mind." 

"  Since  when  have  you  been  dry-nursing  rustlers?  " 
snarled  Rafe. 

"  I  don't  know  he's  a  rustler." 

"  I  said  he  was,  didn't  I?" 

"  You  said  so,  sure.     But  you  might  be  mistaken." 

"  I  don't  make  mistakes  like  that.  And,  anyway, 
all  my  boys  here  saw  him  branding  that  calf." 

"  We  sure  did,"  corroborated  Jonesy.  "  Feller  had 
a  fire  all  lit,  and  was  heating  a  running-iron  when  we 
jumped  him." 


82          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Did  the  calf  have  its  mammy  along?  "  was  Billy's 
next  question. 

No  one  answered.  Billy,  however,  did  not  remove 
his  eyes  from  Rafe's  face.  The  pause  was  becoming 
almost  embarrassing  when  the  five  Tuckletonions  made 
reply  with  a  rush.  Two  of  them  said  "  Yes,"  and 
the  other  three  said  "  No." 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  difference  of  opinion,"  said 
Billy.  "  Don't  you  know  whether  the  cow  was  along?  " 

"  She  wasn't  along,"  declared  Jonesy,  sticking  to  his 
original  assertion. 

"  But  Rafe  said  she  was,"  said  Billy. 

44 1  made  a  mistake,"  Rafe  hastened  to  assure  him. 

Billy  nodded  in  triumph.  "  Then  you  do  make  mis- 
takes. I  always  knew  you  did.  Funny  how  you  and 
Jonesy  saw  things  so  different  and  all.  Ben  didn't  see 
any  cow  either,  and  Tim  Mullen  and  Lake  did." 

"  Maybe  I  made  a  mistake  too,"  said  Lake  sullenly, 
taking  his  cue  from  his  employer. 

u  How  about  you,  Tim?  "  persisted  the  questioner. 

Tim  looked  furtively  from  his  employer  to  his  fore- 
man and  back  again  before  answering. 

"  Speak  up,  Tim,"  directed  Billy,  "  speak  up.  You 
did  or  you  didn't.  Yes  or  no?  " 

"  Maybe  I  made  a  mistake,"  was  Tim  Mullen's  final 
decision. 

4  They  seem  to  have  come  over  to  your  point  of 
view,  Jonesy,"  Billy  observed  dryly.  "  How  about 
you?  Did  you  make  a  mistake  too?  " 

But  Jonesy  was  not  to  be  caught.  44  The  cow  wasn't 
along.  I  oughta  know." 

4  You  don't  need  to  be  so  fierce  about  it.     I  was  just 


Jack  Murray  Objects  83 

askin'  questions.     If  this  feller  had  a  fire  and  was  heat- 
ing  a  running-iron,  I  suppose  he  had  a  calf  handy." 

"  I  said  we  caught  him  with  a  calf,"  insisted  Rafe 
Tuckleton. 

"  That's  right,  so  you  did.  Was  the  calf  hog-tied?  " 

"  Naturally." 

"  And  when  you  saw  this  stranger  and  jumped  him, 
I  suppose  you  came  boiling  along  right  after  him?  " 

"  Sure  did."     Thus  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

"  None  of  you  stopped  anywhere,  huh?" 

'  Why,  no,  of  course  not.  It  wouldn't  be  reason- 
able, would  it,  if  we  were  chasin'  him,  to  get  off  and 
fiddle  around?  " 

"  No,  it  wouldn't  be  reasonable,"  admitted  Billy. 
"  Then  if  none  of  you  got  off  to  turn  the  calf  loose, 
the  calf  must  still  be  there  —  calf,  fire  and  running- 
iron?" 

Rafe  looked  a  little  blank  at  this.  So  did  the  others. 
Jonesy  was  the  first  to  recover  his  spirits. 

"  Unless  somebody  else  turned  it  loose,"  suggested 
Jonesy  brightly. 

"  But  the  fire  and  running-iron  will  still  be  there." 

"  Of  course  they  will,"  Rafe  Tuckleton  declared 
heartily.  "  Of  course  they  will.  But  it  just  occurs  to 
me  that  this  man  may  have  had  a  friend  with  him  we 
didn't  see.  And  that  hog-tied  calf  and  fire  and  running- 
iron  —  that  last  may  have  been  a  cinch  ring,  Bill  — 
are  evidence  that'll  hang  this  man.  Jonesy,  suppose 
now  you  ride  back  to  the  fork  of  that  split  draw  south 
of  Saddle  Hill,  where  we  saw  this  man's  fire,  and  see 
that  nobody  destroys  the  evidence  before  we  get  there. 
Ben,  I  think  you'd  better  go  with  Jonesy." 


84          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  No,"  said  Billy  decidedly.  "  Jonesy  and  Ben  will 
stay  right  here." 

"  Remember,"  called  Riley,  "  that  this  Greener  is 
double-barreled." 

uBut  see  here — "  Rafe  began  desperately. 

"  No  see  about  it,"  interrupted  Billy.  "  You'll  all 
stay  right  here  with  us  till  Tom  Walton  gets  here." 

"  But  suppose  somebody  destroys  the  evidence," 
worried  Rafe. 

"  I  don't  guess  they'll  destroy  all  of  it,"  said  Billy 
cheerfully.  "  You  see,  Rafe,  we  want  to  go  with  you 
to  the  fork  of  that  split  draw  south  of  Saddle  Hill." 

Rafe's  blazing  eyes  were  fairly  murderous.  His 
men  muttered  behind  him.  But  they  made  no  hostile 
move.  They  realized  that  Rafe  would  never  forgive 
them  if  they  did.  He  would  not  be  able  to. 

In  the  meantime  Hazel  had  been  alternately  bathing 
the  senseless  one's  forehead  and  dribbling  drops  of 
whisky  between  his  teeth. 

"  He's  coming  round,"  she  said  suddenly. 

The  man  opened  his  eyes,  groaned,  grunted,  and  sat 
up.  He  blinked  his  eyes  rapidly  several  times  and 
smiled  pleasantly  at  Hazel. 

'  That  was  a  jolt  I  got,"  said  he.  "  Is  there  whisky 
in  the  bottle?" 

He  took  a  long  and  healthy  pull,  drove  in  the  cork 
with  the  heel  of  his  hand,  wiped  his  lips  and  then 
seemed  to  see  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  his  men  for  the  first 
time. 

"  I  seem  to  remember  those  bandits  giving  me  the 
chase  of  my  young  life,"  he  remarked,  nodding  his 
head.  "  I  don't  know  why.  I  don't  know  why  my 


Jack  Murray  Objects  85 

unknown  friend  with  the  six-shooter  and  my  other 
equally  unknown  friend  with  the  scatter-gun  are  hold- 
ing them  up,  but  I'm  glad  they're  doing  it.  Still,  why? 
Why  all  this  fuss  and  these  feathers?  " 

"  I  don't  know  either,"  replied  Billy,  continuing  to 
watch  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  his  men  like  the  proverbial 
hawk,  "  but  we  hope  to  find  out.  When  a  couple  of 
friends  of  mine  get  here,  we  aim  to  find  out." 


CHAPTER  SIX 

CROSS-PURPOSES 

".  .  .  and  my  name  is  John  Dawson,"  continued 
the  stranger,  "  and  I'm  on  my  way  to  visit  my  uncle  at 
Jacksboro." 

"  Uncle !  Jacksboro !  "  exclaimed  Jonesy.  "  Pretty 
smooth  and  thin." 

Tom  Walton  took  no  notice  of  Jonesy.  :t  Where'd 
you  work  last?  " 

"  Cross  T  in  Redstone  County." 

Tom  Walton  nodded.  "  Turberville  ranch?  Left 
ribs  cattle,  left  shoulder  and  jaw  horses?  " 

"  No,  Tasker's,"  corrected  John  Dawson.  "  Left 
hip  cattle  and  horses,  no  jaw  brand." 

"  I  know,"  said  Tom  Walton  gently.  "  I  knew  it 
was  Tasker's.  I  had  to  —  be  sure." 

"  Whatsa  use  of  this  gassing?"  demanded  Rafe. 
"  I  tell  you,  Tom,  we  caught  this  feller  branding  one 
of  my  calves,  and  I'll  gamble  he's  the  boy  been  doing 
all  the  rustling  on  your  range  too." 

4  You  might  be  right.  I  don't  know.  But  he  tells 
a  straight  story." 

:t  They  all  do.  He's  a  rustler.  Take  my  word  for 
it." 

"  But  he  said  in  the  beginning,"  objected  Tom,  "  that 
he  never  was  near  that  split  draw." 


Cross-Purposes  87 

"  We  saw  him,  I  tell  you !  " 

"  All  right.  Soon  as  we  eat,  we'll  all  ride  over  to 
the  draw  and  take  a  squint  at  the  evidence. " 

"  What  for  ?     Ain't  my  word  enough  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  gamblin'  with  a  man's  life,"  said 
Tom  smoothly. 

"  Better  be  sure  than  sorry,"  said  Billy. 

"  I  won't  be  sorry  none  to  hang  him,  the  cow  thief !  " 

"  If  I  had  my  gun  I'd  argue  that  with  you,"  remark- 
ed the  prisoner  pleasantly. 

Rafe  was  understood  to  damn  all  creation.  Oh,  he 
was  wild. 

"  Dinner!  "  called  Hazel  from  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Too  bad  the  sheriff  ain't  here,"  grumbled  Rafe, 
on  the  way  to  the  house. 

"  It  is  too  bad,"  Tom  Walton  flung  over  his  should- 
er. "  But  I  sent  Roy  for  Sam  Prescott.  He'll  meet 
us  on  the  Hillsville  trail." 

Roy  was  the  half  of  his  outfiit.  The  Walton  ranch 
was  a  little  one.  Even  in  big  seasons  Tom  could  not 
afford  to  employ  more  than  three  men.  In  winter  he 
let  them  all  go.  What  little  work  there  was  to  be 
done  he  managed  to  do  himself.  Small  rancher  though 
he  was,  Tom  Walton  was  not  a  nonentity  in  the  com- 
munity. Folk  trusted  him.  He  was  known  to  be 
honest. 

After  dinner  the  whole  party,  excepting  Hazel,  took 
horse  and  rode  down  the  draw  to  the  Hillsville  trail. 
Rafe  and  his  outfit  would  have  ridden  to  the  trail  at 
once.  But  Billy  Wingo  carefully  shepherded  them 
from  it. 

"  We'll  keep  off  the  trail,"  said  Billy.     "  This  Daw- 


88          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

son  man  says  he's  never  been  off  the  trail  till  he  got 
chased  off  by  you  fellers.  We  may  want  to  examine 
that  trail  for  tracks  later." 

The  Tuckleton  men  muttered  and  swore,  but  they 
kept  away  from  the  trail.  Soon  after  the  party  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  trail,  Roy,  Sam  Prescott  and  two  of 
his  men  trotted  into  sight.  Billy  rode  to  meet  them 
and  turned  them  from  the  trail  before  they  reached 
the  spot  where  John  Dawson  said  he  had  left  it. 

Sam  Prescott  listened  in  silence  to  the  respective 
stories  of  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  John  Dawson.  He 
seemed  unimpressed  by  either.  When  he  had  heard 
all  they  had  to  say,  he  dismounted  and  examined  the 
hoofs  of  Dawson's  horse.  Then  he  and  Riley,  closely 
followed  by  the  others,  rode  along  the  edge  of  the 
trail  scrutinizing  the  tracks  upon  its  dusty  surface. 

"  Here's  where  he  says  he  left  the  trail  all  right," 
observed  Bill.  "  You  can't  mistake  the  point  of  that 
near  fore  shoe.  He  says  Tuckleton  and  his  boys  rode 
at  him  from  over  yonder,  but  if  they  chased  him  ail- 
away  from  that  split  draw  like  they  say  they  did,  there 
wouldn't  be  a  single  track  here.  They'd  all  be  on  the 
other  side  of  those  cottonwoods." 

He  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  toward  said 
cottonwoods  growing  about  a  hundred  yards  to  the 
south. 

u  Let's  go  over  yonder  where  he  said  they  came 
from,"  said  Sam  Prescott. 

They  all  went  over  yonder.  There  they  found  the 
tracks  of  five  horses.  Not  only  that,  but  in  a  near-by 
depression  behind  some  red  willows  they  found  where 
five  horses  had  stood  a  considerable  time. 


Cross-Purposes  89 

Sam  Prescott  picked  up  in  turn  the  hoofs  of  every 
Tuckleton  horse. 

'  These  five  horses  were  standing  here  at  least  two 
hours/'  remarked  Sam  Prescott,  staring  at  Rafe. 

The  latter  said  nothing.  Really,  there  was  nothing 
to  say. 

Led  by  Sam  Prescott  and  Billy,  the  party  followed 
the  tracks  of  these  five  horses  back  to  the  trail  and  into 
the  draw  leading  to  the  Walton  ranch. 

"You  see,"  said  Billy  to  Sam  Prescott.  "Those 
horses  were  coming  on  the  dead  jump.  It's  just  like 
Dawson  says.  They  were  chasing  him." 

Although  Billy's  voice  was  loud  enough  for  all  to 
hear,  none  of  the  Tuckleton  outfit  took  it  upon  himself 
to  deny  the  statement.  It  may  be  said  that  they  were 
growing  a  trifle  discouraged. 

"  Le's  go  to  the  split  draw,"  resumed  Billy,  when 
Sam  Prescott  had  openly  agreed  with  him.  u  Maybe 
we'll  find  that  calf  and  the  fire  and  the  running-iron. 
But  I  expect  that  fire  will  be  out  by  this  time." 

"  I  guess  likely."  Thus  Sam  Prescott,  and  turned 
his  horse. 

But  they  did  not  find  the  calf  and  the  extinct  fire 
and  the  running-iron.  There  was  nothing  in  the  split 
draw  even  remotely  resembling  any  of  these. 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  Rafe,  weakly  attempt- 
ing a  last  defense,  "  maybe  it  was  another  draw." 

"  Maybe  it  was,"  admitted  Sam,  turning  to  young 
Dawson.  "  Maybe  it  was,  but  I'm  satisfied  it  wasn't. 
It  was  a  good  thing  for  you,  young  feller,  that  Billy 
Wingo  and  Riley  Tyler  were  on  the  spot  when  your 
horse  fell." 


90          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  I  know  it,"  responded  young  Dawson  heartily. 
"  I'm  not  forgettin'  it.  And  maybe  I  can  return  the 
favor  some  bright  and  sunny  day.  Now  if  I  can  have 
my  gun,  I'll  just  have  a  word  or  two  with  the  man  you 
call  Tuckleton." 

"  No  words,"  said  Sam  Prescott  firmly.  "  Not  a 
word.  This  thing  has  gone  far  enough.  There'll  be 
no  shooting  round  here.  Rafe  and  his  outfit  are  goin' 
home  now,  and  you're  riding  with  me  back  to  Tom's 
ranch.  And  to-morrow  morning  I'll  see  you  off  to 
Jacksboro.  Rafe,  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you " 

Rafe  Tuckleton  and  his  outfit  took  the  hint. 

"  And  you  mean  to  tell  me  they  can  get  away  with 
a  deal  like  that?  "  demanded  John  Dawson. 

Sam  Prescott  smiled  wearily.  "  What  could  they 
be  arrested  for  —  always  supposing  you  could  get  the 
sheriff  to  arrest  'em,  which  he  wouldn't." 

"Well " 

"  There  y'are.  Of  course  you  could  call  it  attempt- 
ed assault.  What's  that?  Under  the  statute,  a  week 
in  jail.  And  who'd  convict  'em?  " 

Tom  Walton  laughed  bitterly.  "  You  don't  know 
this  county,  Mr.  Dawson.  Anythng  can  happen  here." 

"  Seemingly  it  can,"  said  Mr.  Dawson  in  frank  dis- 
gust. 

"  You  see,"  said  Rafe,  "  I'd  figured  we'd  have  to 
find  somebody  to  lynch  for  rustlin'  so  that  infernal  Tom 
Walton  wouldn't  be  suspectin'  us  alia  time.  Shindle 
ran  across  this  Dawson  party  in  Hillsville  and  guessed 
he'd  fill  the  bill,  he  being  a  stranger  and  all." 


Cross-Purposes  91 

"  So  Skinny  rode  ahead  and  let  you  know  he  was 
coming,  huh?  "  queried  Sam  Larder. 

"  Yeah.     Oh,  damn  the  luck!  Who'd  have  expected 
Wingo  and  Tyler  to  be  at  Walton's?  " 

'  They  did  put  a  crimp  in  your  plans,  sort  of,"  as- 
sented Larder. 

"  And  now  Tom  Walton  is  more  suspicious  than 
ever,"  contributed  Tip  O'Gorman. 

"  I  can  fix  that  Wingo,  though,"  snarled  Rafe  Tuck- 
leton.  "  He'll  never  get  elected  sheriff  now." 

Tip  smiled.     "  Won't  he?" 

"  No  he  won't  he!" 

"  That's  just  the  thing  will  cinch  his  election.  I'm 
gonna  play  it  up  strong  in  the  campaign." 

"  What !     Why,  he  tried  to  show  us  up !  " 

"  And  succeeded  in  doing  it,  according  to  your  tell. 
That's  all  right;  Rafe,  you  were  a  little  too  raw,  you 
know.  I've  cautioned  you  about  being  more  careful. 
You  wouldn't  take  advice  and  you'll  have  to  take  your 
medicine  —  this  time.  I'll  explain  matters  to  Bill, 
where  you  stand  and  everything.  You'll  find  it  won't 
happen  again." 

With  which  Tuckleton  was  forced  to  be  satisfied. 

That  night  Tip  O'Gorman  had  a  long  talk  with 
Billy  Wingo.  Tip  did  not  tell  him  all  he  knew,  by 
any  means.  Such  was  not  his  custom.  To  understand 
Tip  one  had  to  do  a  deal  of  reading  between  the  lines. 
But  when  Tip  went  home,  he  carried  with  him  the 
belief  that  Billy  understood  perfectly  the  desires  and 
aims  of  the  county  machine  and  would  be  a  willing 
worker. 

Billy  sat  looking  up  at  the  ceiling  for  quite  a  long 


92          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

time  after  Tip  was  gone.     Finally  he  laughed  silently. 
"  Tip,  you're  an  old  scoundrel/'  he  said  aloud,  "  but 
I  can't  help  liking  you,  just  the  same.     I  hope  I  don't 
have  to  step  too  hard  on  your  toes." 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
RAPE'S  IDEA 

"  TELL  you  what,  Jonesy,"  said  Rafe,  "  this  ranch 
needs  a  mistress." 

Jonesy  laughed  as  at  a  pleasantry  and  continued  to 
talk  of  the  mischance  in  the  matter  of  young  Dawson. 

"  I  mean  it,"  interrupted  Rafe,  wagging  his  head. 
"  I'm  tired  of  living  single." 

"  Well,"  said  Jonesy,  "  you  can  always  get  some 
petticoat  to  live  with  you  for  a  while." 

"  I  don't  mean  a  floozie.  I  mean  a  sure-enough  lady 
like." 

"  Oh,  one  of  them,  huh?  I  dunno,  Rafe.  I  mar- 
ried a  good  woman  once,  and  take  it  from  me  they  sure 
cramp  a  feller's  style." 

"  It  depends  on  the  woman.  There  are  women  and 
women.  If  a  feller  is  careful  who  he  picks,  he  don't 
run  a  bad  chance.  Me,  I  got  my  eye  on  young  Hazel 
Walton." 

Jonesy  looked  his  astonishment.      "  Her?  " 

"  Why  not?" 

"  After  this  Dawson  business?" 

"  Why  not?" 

"  She  wouldn't  look  at  you." 

"  Don't  you  fool  yourself.  Why  wouldn't  she  took 
at  me,  I'd  like  to  know?  I  got  money.  She  could 


94          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

wear  good  clothes  and  have  help  in  the  kitchen.  What 
more  could  a  woman  want?  n 

Jonesy  shook  his  head.  "  This  Dawson  business 
has  queered  you  there,  and  you  can  bet  on  it." 

"  Oh,  that's  easy  explained  —  to  her." 

"  H-m-m-m,  well,  maybe  so.  I  dunno,  she  looks  to 
me  like  one  girl  who  knows  her  own  mind.  And  there's 
Tom  Walton  who  don't  like  us,  either.  You  gotta 
think  of  all  these  things." 

"  I  have.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  think 
she'll  do." 

44  Funny  you  never  noticed  it  before.  She's  been 
around  with  her  uncle  several  years  now." 

44 1  never  even  gave  her  more'n  a  short  look  till  I 
seen  her  holding  that  Dawson  man's  head  in  her  lap, 
and  then  stickin'  up  for  him  the  way  she  did.  I  tell 
you,  she  looked  mighty  handsome." 

44  She's  a  lot  younger  than  you." 

'4  What's  a  few  years  between  man  and  wife?  Be- 
sides, I  ain't  so  old.  I  ain't  forty  yet." 

4  You  will  be  next  year,  and  I'll  bet  she  ain't  twenty 
yet." 

44  She'll  last  all  the  longer." 

It  was  mid-morning  next  day,  when  Hazel  was  mak- 
ing butter,  that  a  rap  sounded  on  the  kitchen  door. 

44  Come  in,"  she  called  continuing  to  turn  steadily 
the  handle  of  her  box  churn. 

It  was  Rafe  Tuckleton  who  opened  the  door  and 
walked  in.  Hazel's  eyes  narrowed  at  sight  of  the  man. 
Rafe  Tuckleton!  What  on  earth  did  he  want? 

44Uncle's  out,"  she  said  shortly. 

44 1  didn't  come  to  see  him,"  explained  Rafe,  with  a 


Rafe's  Idea  95 

smile  he  strove  to  make  ingratiating.  "  I  came  to  see 
you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  can  want  to  see  me  about." 

"  I  have  my  reasons,"  said  Rafe  vaguely. 

Hat  in  hand,  he  started  to  sidle  to  a  chair. 

"  Don't  they  have  any  doors  where  you  live?" 
Hazel  inquired  sharply. 

u  Oh,"  Rafe  wheeled  hastily  and  closed  the  door. 
He  set  a  trifle  to  the  young  lady's  account.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  being  talked  to  this  way.  The  snip  ! 

He  gained  the  chair  at  last,  sat  down,  crossed  his 
legs  and  crowned  a  sharp  and  bony  knee  with  his  hat. 

"  Yeah,"  he  intoned,  pulling  one  horn  of  his  crescent- 
shaped  mustache.  u  I  come  to  see  you."  It  never 
occurred  to  him  to  offer  to  turn  the  churn-handle  for 
her.  In  his  estimation  women  were  made  for  the 
especial  comfort  and  delectation  of  men.  Why  put 
oneself  out?  Quite  so. 

Hazel  continued  to  turn  the  handle  in  silence. 

"  Makin'  butter?  "  was  Rafe's  next  remark. 

"  Not  at  all,"  Hazel  replied  sweetly.  "  I'm  wash- 
ing blankets." 

As  humor  it  was  not  subtle.  But  neither  was  the 
man  subtle.  He  laughed  aloud  and  slapped  his  knee. 

"  Pretty  good.  Got  a  tongue  in  your  head,  ain't 
you?" 

Again  he  pulled  his  mustache  and  favored  her  with 
what  he  conceived  to  be  a  most  fetching  leer.  He 
succeeded  in  making  her  yearn  to  hurl  the  churn  at  him. 

"  You've  seen  me,"  she  said  suddenly,  raising  her 
dark  eyes  to  his  face.  "  Why  not  move  right  along?  " 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  easily.     "  You're  only 


96          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

mad  at  me  account  of  that  business  the  other  day. 
Nothing  at  all,  that  wasn't.  Just  a  li'l  mistake.  We 
all  make  them.  You  mustn't  hold  it  against  me." 

41  But  I  do  hold  it  against  you  !  "  she  cried  vehement- 
ly. "  You  tried  to  murder  him !  " 

Rafe  raised  a  bland  hand,  palm  outward.  "  Not 
a-tall.  You've  got  it  all  wrong.  I  might  have  known 
you  would.  Women  never  do  get  things  straight." 

44 1  got  this  straight  all  right,  and  you  might  as  well 
know  I  haven't  a  bit  of  use  for  you,  and  I  don't  want 
you  in  my  kitchen.  So  there  !  " 

44  Now  listen,  li'l  girl,"  he  said  persuasively.  "  You 
don't  understand  me  a-tall,  I  tell  you.  I  may  look 
hard  —  a  rough  diamond  but  I'm  the  pure  quill  under- 
neath, and  I  like  you." 

Hazel  was  so  surprised  that  she  stopped  churning. 
She  stared  at  him,  saucer-eyed,  her  mouth  open. 

Rafe  nodded  his  head  at  her.  44  Yeah,  I  like  you. 
I  have  liked  you  a-uh-long  time.  And  I've  got  a 
proposition  to  make  you.  How'd  you  like  to  marry 
me?" 

Hazel's  expression  registered  immediate  distaste. 
44 1  wouldn't  like.  Not  for  a  minute.  No." 

Rafe  considered  it  necessary  to  explain  matters  more 
fully.  u  I  mean  marry  me  all  regular  and  go  to  live 
at  my  ranch.  You  wouldn't  have  to  work  hard.  You 
could  have  the  washin'  done  and  have  help  in  the 
kitchen.  I'm  a  mighty  easy  feller  to  get  along  with 
too,  once  you  get  to  know  me." 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  to  know  you !  "  Hazel  had 
resumed  her  churning,  but  her  negation  was  no  less 
decisive. 


Rafe's  Idea  97 

"  I'd  be  good  to  you.  Give  you  all  the  dresses  and 
fixings  you  want  —  in  reason.  Say,  I'd  even  have  one 
of  these  cabinet  organs  packed  in  for  you.  New  furni- 
ture, too  —  in  reason.  I'll  be  generous.  I've  got 
money,  and  I'd  sure  be  willing  to  spend  it  on  a  girl  like 
you." 

"  You  needn't  bother." 

He  removed  his.  hat  from  his  knee,  uncrossed  his 
legs  and  dropped  the  hat  on  the  floor.  He  propped 
his  hands  on  his  knees  and  surveyed  her,  his  head  on 
one  side. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  refusing,"  he  told  her. 
"  Marry  me  and  you  won't  have  to  work  like  this. 
Nawsir.  I'm  a  rich  man,  I  am.  Here,  let's  talk  it 
over." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  came  toward  her.  She 
promptly  reached  behind  her  and  possessed  herself  of 
the  singing  kettle. 

"  If  you  touch  me,"  she  said  hysterically,  "  I'll  douse 
you  with  boiling  water!  " 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  with  a  light  laugh,  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  scare  you.  Set  the  kettle  down,  there's 
a  good  girl." 

But  the  good  girl  had  other  ideas.  "  You  get  out 
of  here.  I  don't  want  you  around." 

Her  show  of  temper  caused  his  own  to  flare  up. 
"  There's  no  use  for  you  to  get  mad.  None  a-tall. 
You  act  like  I'd  insulted  you  instead  of  doing  you  a 
honor." 

At  which  her  sense  of  humor  came  to  her  rescue  and 
she  laughed  in  his  face.  He  picked  up  his  hat  and 
faced  her,  scowling. 


98          The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  I  ain't  mad,"  he  told  her.  "  Not  a  bit.  It  don't 
pay  to  get  mad  with  a  woman.  But  I  want  you  to 
know  I'm  comin'  back  for  another  answer.  I  ain't 
satisfied  you  mean  'no.'  And,  anyway,  I  want  you,  and 
I'm  gonna  have  you.  That's  all  there  is  to  it.  You 
think  it  over." 

He  nodded  stiffly,  still  scowling,  and  started  toward 
the  door,  but  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  latch.  When 
he  turned  and  came  back  to  the  table,  she  instantly  re- 
treated to  the  stove  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  kettle. 

44  You  needn't  go  to  pick  up  that  thing,"  he  said, 
both  fists  clenched  on  the  tabletop.  u  I  ain't  gonna 
hurt  you.  I  want  to  know  something.  Billy  Wingo 
comes  here,  doesn't  he?  " 

44  He  comes  —  yes.     Why  not?  " 

44  You  like  him?" 

44  What's  that  to  you?" 

44  Do  you  like  him?" 

44  He's  a  friend  of  mine." 

44  A  girl  don't  flush  up  that  way  over  a  friend.  I 
know.  And  I've  heard,  too.  They  say  you  like  Bill 
Wingo  a  lot.  They  say  you  were  going  with  Nate 
Samson  till  you  met  Bill.  Is  that  right?  " 

14  It's  none  of  your  business." 

u  Lemme  tell  you  something,  young  lady.  Don't 
you  think  for  a  minute  that  Bill  Wingo  feller  can  give 
you  one  tenth  what  I  can.  Just  because  he  was  elected 
sheriff  last  week  don't  signify.  Yours  truly  is  the  dog 
with  the  brass  collar  around  here,  and  don't  you  forget 
it.  You  marry  Bill,  and  you'll  regret  it." 

14  If  I  marry  you,  I'll  regret  it,  —  that's  sure." 

'  Not  a  bit  of  it.     I'm  ace-high  in  the  county  now, 


Rafe's  Idea  99 

and  I'll  go  higher  in  the  territory.  You  can't  keep 
me  down.  I'll  make  money,  more'n  you  can  shake  a 
stick  at.  You  needn't  think  you'll  have  to  live  on  a 
ranch  all  your  life.  Within  three  years  after  you 
marry  me  I'll  take  you  —  yes,  I'll  take  you  to  Hills- 
ville  to  live  where  you  can  see  folks  all  you  want.  You 
know  Hillsville  has  almost  three  thousand  people.  You 
wouldn't  be  lonesome  there.  I " 

"  It's  no  use  talking,"  she  interrupted,  taking  care 
not  to  remove  her  fingers  from  the  kettle.  "  I  wouldn't 
marry  you  or  anybody  else  of  your  crowd,  not  if  he 
was  the  last  man  on  earth." 

"  'My  crowd !'  What's  the  matter  with  my  crowd?  " 

"  Your  crowd !  Yes,  I'd  ask,  I  would !  What  do 
you  suppose  I  mean?  The  gang  that  runs  this  county, 
that's  what  I  mean!  The  gang  that  has  a  finger  in 
every  crooked  land  deal  and  cattle  deal,  the  gang  that 
cheats  the  Indians  on  the  government  contracts.  Yes, 
and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  gang  and  for  what 
they've  done  to  the  morals  of  Crocker  County,  you 
wouldn't  have  dared  to  try  and  lynch  young  John 
Dawson  the  way  you  did !  Let  me  tell  you  something: 
The  new  sheriff  will  show  you  a  thing  or  two.  He  is 
honest!" 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Honest,  is  he  ?  You  know  who  elect- 
ed him,  don't  you?  We  did,  and  we  own  him,  body 
and  soul  and  roll.  He'll  sit  up  and  talk  when  we  tell 
him  to,  and  he  will  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep  when  we 
tell  him  to;  and  if  he  don't,  he's  mighty  liable  to  run 
into  a  spell  of  bad  health.  Not  that  we'll  want  him 
to  do  anything  he  shouldn't.  Not  us."  Thus  Rafe 
Tuckleton,  realizing  his  temper  had  carried  him  away 


ioo        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

and  he  had  said  too  much  by  half,  thinking  it  well  to 
right  matters  if  he  could,  continued  hurriedly: 

u  Those  cattle  deals  you  spoke  of  and  the  govern- 
ment contracts  weren't  crooked  a-tall.  Just  straight 
business,  but  of  course  the  fellers  we  got  'em  away 
from  are  riled  up  and  bound  to  talk.  Naturally,  natu- 
rally. But  don't  you  get  the  notion  in  your  head  that 
everything  wasn't  all  right.  Everything  was  perfectly 
straight  and  aboveboard,  you  bet.  Shucks,  of  course 
it  was.  I  could  explain  it  to  you  mighty  easy,  but  it 
would  take  a  lot  of  time  and  whatsa  use  ?  Politics  ain't 
for  women,  or  business  either,  for  that  matter.  You 
tetter  forget  what  you've  heard  about  our  crowd.  It's 
just  a  pack  of  jealous  lies,  that's  all,  and  if  you'll  tell 
me  the  name  of  who  told  you  anything  out  of  the  way 
about  us,  I'll  make  him  hard  to  find." 

"  I  know  what  I  know,"  said  the  stubborn  Miss 
Walton.  "  You  can't  fool  me !  Not  for  a  minute  I 
And  I've  listened  to  you  long  enough !  You  get  out  of 
here  and  don't  you  come  back!  Flit!  " 

She  swung  the  kettle  from  the  stove.  Rafe  Tuck- 
leton  sprang  back  two  yards.  His  temper  had  again 
gained  the  ascendancy.  He  was  so  mad  he  could  have 
beaten  her  to  a  frazzle.  But  there  was  not  a  club 
handy,  and  moreover  the  lady  had,  by  way  of  rein- 
forcing the  kettle,  slipped  a  butcher  knife  from  the 
table  drawer. 

"  All  right,"  gritted  Rafe,  and  turned  around  from 
the  door  to  shake  his  fist  at  her.  "  I'll  get  you,  you 
li'l  devil !  You  needn't  think  for  a  minute  you  can  get 
away  from  me  by  marrying  some  one  else.  I  don't 
give  a  damn  whether  it's  Bill  Wingo  or  who  it  is! 


Rafe's  Idea  101 

Within  a  week  after  you  get  married,  you'll  be  a 
widow !  A  widow,  y'understand !  I'll  show  you !  " 

He  went  out,  slamming  the  door.  Hazel  made 
haste  to  run  around  the  table  and  drop  the  bar  in  place. 
Then  she  went  to  the  window  and  watched  the  man 
cross  to  the  cottonwoods  where  he  had  tied  his  horse. 

She  uttered  a  sharp  "  Oh!  "  of  disgust  as  he  jerked 
at  the  horse's  mouth  and  made  the  animal  rear.  He 
brought  it  down  by  kicking  it  in  the  stomach. 

"  What  a  beast!"  muttered  she,  with  a  shudder. 
"  What  a  cruel  beast  that  man  is." 

Not  till  Rafe  rode  away,  quirting  his  mount  into  a 
wild  gallop,  did  she  return  to  her  churning.  She  found 
the  butter  had  come,  and  she  removed  the  elmwood 
dasher  and  poured  off  the  buttermilk.  She  put  the 
butter  into  a  long  bowl  full  of  water  and  began  to 
wash  and  knead  it,  but  not  with  her  accustomed  brisk- 
ness. She  was  thinking  of  what  Rafe  Tuckleton  had 
said.  He  would  come  again,  the  brute.  She  did  not 
want  him  to.  He  had  made  her  afraid. 

She  shivered  a  little  as  she  poured  off  the  water  in 
the  bowl  and  refilled  it  from  the  water  bucket  behind 
the  door.  She  had  no  desire  to  marry  anybody  yet. 
She  supposed  she  would  some  time,  of  course.  All 
girls  did  eventually.  But  he  would  have  to  be  some 
nice  boy  she  loved.  She  guessed  yes. 

At  that  very  moment  a  certain  nice  boy  was  riding 
up  the  draw  toward  the  Walton  ranch.  He  met  Rafe 
Tuckleton  riding  away.  Rafe  gave  him  a  nasty  look. 
The  nice  boy  smiled  sweetly  and  pulled  his  horse  across 
the  trail.  "  Why  all  the  hurry-scurry  this  bright  and 
summer  day?  " 


102        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

It  was  not  a  bright  and  summer  day.  It  was  late 
fall,  the  clouds  were  lowering  darkly  and  there  was 
more  than  a  hint  of  winter  in  the  air. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  pulled  up  with  a  jerk  and  a  slide. 
"What  do  you  want?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  was  the  reply,  delivered  with 
still  smiling  lips  but  accompanied  by  a  look  as  chilling 
as  the  day.  "  You  been  at  Walton's?  " 

"  Yep,  I  have.     Not  that  it's  any  of  your  business." 

"  Maybe  you're   right.     Let's  go  back   and  make 


sure." 


Rafe's  blazing  rage  was  so  augmented  by  this  naive 
suggestion  that  his  native  prudence  was  almost  over- 
come by  the  sharp  impulse  to  argue  the  matter.  But 
almost  is  not  quite.  His  coat  was  buttoned,  and  his 
six-shooter  was  under  his  coai.  Bill  Wingo's  six- 
shooter  was  likewise  under  its  owner's  coat,  but  the 
coat  was  unbuttoned  and —  Rafe  recalled  another  day, 
a  day  when  he  had  held  his  hands  above  his  head  while 
the  muzzle  of  Wingo's  gun  gaped  at  his  abdomen. 
That  had  been  a  quick  draw  on  the  part  of  Billy 
Wingo.  Uncommonly  quick.  What  happened  once 
may  happen  again.  This  is  logic. 

The  logician  spat  upon  the  ground.  "  Because  you're 
elected  sheriff  now,  you  needn't  think  that  you  can 
boss  everybody  in  the  county." 

"  But  I  ain't  trying  to  boss  anybody,"  denied  Bill. 
u  I'm  only  askin'  a  favor  of  you,  only  a  li'l  favor.  And 
I'm  hoping  you'll  see  it  that  way.  I  don't  want  any 
trouble  with  you,  Rafe,"  he  added,  "  or  with  anybody 
else." 

Rafe  hesitated.     He  stared  into  Bill's  eyes.     Bill 


Rafe's  Idea  103 

stared  back.  Rafe  did  his  best  to  hold  his  eyes  steady. 
But  there  was  something  about  that  gray  gaze,  some- 
thing that  seemed  to  bore  deep  down  into  that  place 
where  his  sinful  soul  lived  and  had  its  being.  The 
Tuckleton  eyes  wavered,  veered,  came  back,  clung  an 
instant,  then  looked  away  over  the  landscape. 

"  Turn  your  horse,  Rafe,"  said  Billy  Wingo  in  a 
soft  voice. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  turned  his  horse.  They  rode  back 
to  the  Walton  ranch  in  silent  company.  Dismounting 
at  the  door,  Billy  was  careful  to  keep  his  horse  between 
Rafe  and  himself. 

Billy  looked  across  the  saddle  at  Rafe.  "  You  better 
knock  at  the  door,  feller." 

With  extremely  bad  grace,  Rafe  obeyed.  Follow- 
ing the  knock,  a  window  curtain  was  pulled  aside  and 
Hazel  looked  out.  She  nodded  and  smiled  at  Billy. 
The  curtain  dropped.  Billy  heard  the  grating  of  the 
bar  as  it  was  withdrawn  from  the  iron  staples.  The 
door  had  been  barred,  then.  Why?  Was  Rafe  in- 
deed the  qualified  polecat  Billy  had  half-way  suspected 
him  of  being  when  he  meet  him  hurrying  away  from 
the  Walton  ranch?  But  Hazel's  smile  had  been  natu- 
ral as  ever.  Bill  took  comfort  in  that  fact. 

The  door  opened.  Hazel  stood  wiping  her  damp 
hands  on  her  apron. 

"  To,  Hazel,"  said  Bill.     "  Everything  all  right?  " 

Hazel  smiled  again.  She  did  have  beautiful  teeth. 
There  was  the  fetching  dimple  too. 

"  Why,  of  course  everything's  all  right,"  she  told 
him.  "  Why  wouldn't  it  be?" 

Bill  noticed  that  she  did  not  look  at  Rafe  Tuckleton. 


104        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

44  Here's  Mr.  Tuckleton,"  said  he. 

-I  see  him,"  shortly. 

"And —  you're —  sure —  everything's —  all  — 
right?"  Bill  drawled  in  a  lifeless  voice. 

44  Of  course  I'm  sure." 

"  And  —  you're  —  sure  everything  —  has  —  been 
—  all  — right  — all  day?" 

Hazel  nodded.  "  Of  course  it  has.  Won't  you 
come  in,  Billy  —  before  the  kitchen  gets  all  cold?  " 

44  I'll  put  the  li'l  horse  under  the  shed  first.  He's 
kinda  warm.  Rafe,  don't  lemme  detain  you.  You 
seemed  all  in  a  rush  when  I  met  you." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  lingered  not. 

Billy  Wingo  led  his  mount  under  the  shed  and  re- 
turned to  the  house.  Hazel  was  pouring  off  the  wash- 
ing water  when  he  entered  the  kitchen. 

44  What  made  you  bring  Tuckleton  back?  "  she  asked 
pouring  fresh  water  over  the  butter. 

44 1  met  him  coming  away  from  here,  and  I  didn't 
like  the  way  he  looked.  I  thought  maybe  —  "  He 
let  it  go  at  that. 

14  He  was  here  for  a  while,"  said  Hazel,  bringing 
her  bowl  to  the  table  and  beginning  again  to  knead  the 
yellow  mass  of  butter.  "  I  don't  like  that  man." 

Billy  was  at  the  table  instantly.  "  Look  here, 
Hazel " 

11  Look  here,  Billy,"  she  mimicked,  lifting  calm  black 
eyes  to  his  face.  "  Don't  you  go  fussbudgeting.  I'm 
quite  capable  of  managing  my  admirers." 

'  Admirers !     Him !  "  gasped  Wingo. 
He  proposed  to  me.     I  turned  him  down." 

4  Shows  your  good  sense,"  said  Billy,  going  over 


Rafe's  Idea  105 

to  the  chair  lately  vacated  by  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  sit- 
ting down.  "  But  I'd  like  to  know  what  he's  thinking 
of,  the  old  jake." 

Her  amused  eyes  sought  his.  "  Am  I  such  a  poor 
match  as  that?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  he  grumbled.  "  He's 
got  no  right  proposing  to  you,  no  right  a-tall.  Why, 
he's  old  enough  to  be  your  father." 

"  So  he  is.  Do  you  know,  I  never  thought  of  that?  " 

"  You're  foolin'  now,"  grunted  Billy.  "  Tell  you, 
Hazel,  what  you  want  is  some  young  feller  with  pro- 
perty and  all  his  teeth." 

"  I  don't  want  anybody,"  she  declared,  "  young  or 
otherwise.  Billy,  you're  sheriff  now — "  she  con- 
tinued, changing  the  subject. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  don't  take  office  till 
the  first  of  the  year." 

She  nodded.  "  I  understand.  And  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question.  It's  —  it's  —  you  will  say  it's  none  of 
my  business,  I  expect." 

"  Anything's  your  business  you  want  to  ask  questions 
about.  Fly  at  it." 

"  Who  elected  you  sheriff,  Billy?  " 

He  regarded  her  in  some  surprise.      '  The  voters." 

"  I  know,  but  who  manages  the  voters?  " 

"  You  mean  the  party  machine?  " 

"  That's  it.  Well  now,  Bill,  suppose  the  machine 
put  a  man  in  office,  would  he  have  to  do  what  the 
machine  told  him?  " 

"  He  would,  if  he  was  that  kind  of  a  man." 

She  straightened  and  gave  him  a  level  look.  "  Billy, 


106        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

they  say  the  gang  that  runs  this  county  elected  you 
sheriff." 

44  Who's  they  —  Rafe  Tuckleton?  " 

"  Never  mind  who.  What  I  want  to  know  is  do 
you  have  to  do  what  that  gang  tejls  you  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  have  to.  Has  anybody  been  saying  I'd 
have  to?" 

"  I  —  you  hear  rumors  sometimes,  Billy.  Will  you 
have  a  free  hand,  then?  " 

44  So  far  as  my  powers  extend,  I  will,"  he  said. 

44  And  you'll  use  it?" 

44  I'll  use  it,"  curiously. 

44  Is  —  is  that  quite  safe  ?  " 

44  Safe?" 

44  Safe  to  antagonize  the  gang?  " 

"  It  may  not  be  safe  for  the  gang." 

Hazel  raised  a  great  gob  of  butter  in  her  two  hands 
and  squeezed  it  out  slowly  between  her  fingers. 
44  Couldn't  you  give  'em  their  way,  sort  of?  Not  in 
everything.  I  don't  mean  that.  But  just  enough  to 
keep  'em  good-natured?  " 

His  curiosity  changed  to  blank  amazement.  "  You 
know  what  you're  asking,  I  suppose,"  he  said  coldly. 
44 1  thought  you  didn't  like  Rafe  Tuckleton?  " 

44 1  hate  him,"  was  her  simple  statement.  "  But  I 
—  I'm  afraid." 

"  Afraid?     How  afraid?" 

"  Afraid  for  you." 

:'Why  for  me?" 

44  Because  —  oh,  it's  so  hard  to  explain !  "  she  almost 
wailed.  u  You  misunderstand  me  so.  You  think  I'm 
asking  favors  on  their  account!  " 


Rafe's  Idea  107 

He  believed  he  detected  a  sob  in  her  voice.  This 
would  never  do.  Couldn't  have  Hazel  crying. 

"  If  you'd  only  explain,"  he  suggested  soothingly. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  her  hands  busy  in  the  butter, 
"  Sally  Jane  Prescott  was  over  here  yesterday,  and  she 
said  what  a  darn  good  thing  your  election  was  for 
Crocker  County;  how  you'd  reform  it  and  all  that,  and 
how  you'd  surely  put  out~of  business  the  gang  that's 
running  it  now.  I  agreed  with  her,  of  course,  but  I 
never  really  realized  till  —  till  later  what  it  might 
mean  to  you" 

She  paused.  He  awaited  her  pleasure.  After  a 
minute's  silence  she  continued. 

"  You  see,  Billy,  you've  been  pretty  nice  to  me  — 
uncle  and  me.  And  you've  come  to  be  sort  of  a  — 
sort  of  a  friend  —  kind  of  and  -r—  and  I  —  we  don't 
want  to  see  you  hurt,"  she  finished  with  a  rush. 

"  So  that's  the  reason  you  think  I'd  better  go  easy 
on  the  gang." 

"  It  will  be  safer.  You  don't  have  to  be  too  open 
about  it.  You  can  arrest  the  people  the  gang  doesn't 
care  anything  about." 

"  That  would  be  hard  on  the  people,  I  should  say." 

"  It's  better  than  running  into  danger  all  the  time. 
I  tell  you,  Billy,  as  true  as  I  stand  here  this  minute,  if 
you  try  to  fight  the  gang,  you  won't  last  out  your  term." 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  regarded  him  piteously. 
When  a  pretty  girl  clasps  her  hands  and  regards  you 
piteously,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Right.  You 
can't  help  yourself,  can  you?  Neither  could  Billy. 

But  when  he  had  kissed  her  three  times  on  the  mouth 
she  pushed  him  away  and  cried  distractedly.  '  You 


io8        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

mustn't !  You  mustn't !  You  don't  know  what  you're 
doing!" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  he  assured  her  and  seized  her 
buttery  hands.  "  We'll  be  married  to-morrow!  " 

At  which  she  whipped  her  hands  from  his  grasp  and 
put  the  table  between  them.  "  No !  Go  over  there 
and  sit  down  I  " 

"  I  won't !     I  love  you !     And  you  love  me  1  " 

"  I  don't/'  she  stormed. 

"  What  did  you  kiss  me  back  for  then?  "  he  demand- 
ed triumphantly.  "  You  did!  You  know  you  did!  I 
felt  you!" 

This  was  true.  But  she  continued  to  keep  the  table 
between  them,  despite  his  efforts  to  come  around  to  her 
side. 

"  You  go  over  there  and  sit  down  —  please !  "  she 
begged.  "  Please,  please,  pretty  please !  " 

He  went  slowly.  He  sat  down.  He  stretched  his 
long  legs  out  in  front  of  him  and  teetered  his  heels  on 
the  rowels  of  his  spurs. 

*'  Look  here,  Hazel,"  he  complained,  for  he  was 
feeling  most  ill-used,  "  I  don't  understand  this  a-tall. 
You  lemme  kiss  you  three  times  and  then  you  shove  me 
away,  and  when  I  ask  you  to  marry  me,  you  run  behind 
the  table.  What  did  you  let  me  kiss  you  for  if  you 
don't  love  me?  " 

"  I  couldn't  help  myself.     You  were  so  quick." 

1  You  kissed  me  back,  too.     Don't  forget  that." 

"  It  was  a  mistake,  all  a  mistake.  You  don't  love 
me." 

4  You  don't  know  a  thing  about  it.  I  do  love  you. 
And  you  love  me,  you  know  you  do." 


Rafe's  Idea  109 

But  by  this  time  she  had  regained  complete  control 
of  herself.  "  I  don't  know  anything  of  the  kind.  Let's 
forget  it." 

As  if  he  could  forget  the  pressure  of  her  soft  lips! 
Why,  for  another  such  kiss  he  would  cheerfully  have 
fought  a  grizzly.  For  that's  the  kind  of  a  kiss  it  was. 

He  shook  his  head.      "  I  can't  forget." 

Her  poor  heart  almost  choked  her  at  the  words. 
She  wanted  him  to  kiss  her  again,  and  keep  on  kissing 
her  till  she  told  him  to  stop.  How  wonderful  that 
would  be !  But  she  stifled  the  desire  with  an  effort  of 
will  that  turned  her  cheeks  white. 

"  You  must  forget,"  she  told  him,  her  chin  wobbling. 

"  Tell  me  you  don't  love  me,  and  I'll  do  my  best." 

"  I  don't  —  "  she  began  and  paused.  To  save  her 
life  she  could  not  tell  this  man  the  contrary  of  what 
every  fiber  of  her  being  was  proclaiming.  She  could 
not.  She  compromised.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  said 
tightly.  "  I  don't  know." 

"  But  I  know,"  objected  Billy.  "  You  just  give  me 
a " 

"  No,"  she  interrupted,  "  don't  plague  me,  Billy, 
please  don't.  Just  —  just  don't  ask  me  again,  that's 
all." 

"  Is  there  anybody  else?  "  he  demanded. 

She  shook  her  head.     "  No  one." 

"  Then  I've  got  a  chance." 

But  at  this  she  took  fright  anew.  "  You  mustn't 
think  of  it!  You  mustn't!  I  can't  marry  you  now, 
Billy." 

"  Now?     All  right,  some  other  time." 

He  stooped  over  as  though  to  pick  up  something 


no        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

from  the  floor.  Apparently  he  overbalanced  himself, 
for  he  fell  forward  on  his  hands  and  knees.  When  he 
picked  himself  up  he  was  within  arm's  length  of  Hazel. 
He  reached  out  two  triumphant  arms  and  swept  her 
against  him.  A  bare  instant  she  struggled  desperately. 
Then  with  a  sigh  she  relaxed  and  put  up  her  mouth  to 
be  kissed. 

"  There,  there,"  he  said  later,  his  lips  pressed 
against  her  hair,  "  I  knew  it  would  be  all  right  once 
you  let  yourself  go." 

She  lifted  her  body  slightly  in  his  arms.  "Tell  me 
you  love  me,  dearest/5 

Then  when  he  told  her,  she  asked,  "  How  much? 
More  than  anything  else  in  the  world?  Are  you 
sure?" 

What  ridiculous  questions.  Of  course  he  was  sure. 
4  Then  you'll  do  anything  I  ask,  won't  you?  Prom- 
ise?" 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder.  "  Prom- 
ise?" she  repeated,  her  warm  lips  on  his. 

Even  as  her  arms  tightened  about  his  neck,  he  felt  a 
tightening  at  his  heart.  And  the  latter  was  not  a 
pleasant  tightening.  What  did  she  mean?  He  loved 
her.  God,  how  he  loved  her  dark  loveliness,  but  — 
what  was  she  driving  at? 

"  I  can't  promise  till  you  tell  what  you  want  me  to 
do." 

"  No,  say  you  promise.     Say  it,  say  it." 

But  he  would  not,  and  she  tried  a  new  angle.  "  If 
I  tell  you,  will  you  promise  ?  " 

"  After  you've  told  me,"  he  persisted. 


Rafe's  Idea  HI 

She  sat  up  straight  at  this  and  took  his  face  between 
her  two  arm  palms. 

"  Billy,  you  know  I  love  you,  don't  you  ?  " 

Looking  into  her  eyes  how  could  he  doubt  it. 

She  resumed.  "  You  know  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  do 
anything  that  wasn't  for  your  own  good,  yet  you  won't 
promise  the  first  promise  I  ever  asked  you  to  make." 

He  shook  his  head.     "  I  can't." 

"  All  right,  I'll  have  to  tell  you  then,  Billy.  I've 
heard  things  —  about  your  job.  I've  heard  that  if 
you  don't  do  exactly  as  the  gang  says  you'll  be  kuk- 
killed.  Oh,  not  exactly  in  those  words,  but  I  know 
what  was  meant.  No,  I  shan't  tell  you  where  I  heard 
it.  It  doesn't  matter  anyway.  It  was  bad  enough 
when  you  —  I  thought  you  were  just  a  friend,  but  now 
—  now  when  you're  just  everything  to  me,  I  cuc-can't 
bear  to  have  you  run  any  risks.  Suppose  something 
happens  to  you,  what  would  I  do?  I'd  die,  I  think. 
I'd  want  to,  anyway." 

At  which  he  tried  to  kiss  away  her  fears,  but  these 
were  too  deep-rooted  for  any  such  old-fashioned 
remedy  as  that  to  be  of  any  avail. 

"  No,  no,  don't!  "  she  protested,  holding  his  head 
away  by  main  force.  "  Not  now.  I'm  not  through 
yet.  Listen.  You'll  fight  the  gang,  I  know  you  will." 

He  nodded  a  slow  head.  "  I've  got  to.  That's  why 
I  took  the  job  of  sheriff." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  said  sadly.  "  But  you  can  resign, 
can't  you?  " 

"  I  could,  but  I  won't." 

"  Not  if  I  ask  you  to?" 

"  I  can't.     It  would  be  lying  down  without  a  fight, 


112        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

and  I've  never  done  that  yet.     They'd  say  I  was  afraid 
of 'em." 

"  What  does  it  matter  what  they  say?  You'll  have 
me.  We'll  be  together." 

He  put  up  a  hand  and  stroked  the  tumbled  waves  of 
her  black  hair.  "  You  wouldn't  love  me  if  I  did  a  thing 
like  that.  You'd  know  I  wasn't  doing  right." 

She  shook  his  face  between  her  hands  with  gentle 
earnestness.  "  Yes,  I  would!  I  would  I  I  know  I 
would!  Everything  you  do  is  just  right!  It  would 
be  right  if  you  did  it!  Don't  you  see?  What  does 
anything  matter  so  long  as  we  have  each  other?  Why 
do  you  have  to  risk  your  life?  Oh,  take  me  away,  be- 
loved, take  me  away  and  I'll  marry  you  to-morrow!  " 

Because  of  what  he  did  then,  you'll  say  he  did  not 
love  her.  But  he  did,  heart  and  soul  and  body,  he 
loved  her.  Yet  he  put  her  resolutely  from  him  and 
held  her  off  at  the  full  stretch  of  his  arms.  "  There's 
more  to  this  than  you've  told  me,"  said  he  shrewdly. 
"  You're  scared.  You're  scared  bad,  but  it  isn't  only 
the  thought  of  the  gang  that  scares  you.  There's 
something  else.  What  is  it?  " 

At  first  she  would  not  tell  him.  He  argued  with  her. 

Finally  she  surrendered.  "  If  you  marry  me  and 
stay  here,  you'll  be  killed." 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  "  Is  that  all 
that's  worrying  you?  We'll  be  married  to-morrow, 
like  I  said." 

'  No,  we  won't  —  unless  you  take  me  away  at  once. 
No,  don't  kiss  me.  I  mean  it." 

4  Who  told  you  I'd  be  killed?  " 

"  I  won't  tell  you." 


Rafe's  Idea  113 

"  Tell  me,  and  I'll  make  him  come  here  and  take 
back  everything  he  said." 

But  the  recollection  of  what  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  his 
outfit  had  almost  succeeded  in  doing  to  John  Dawson 
was  too  fresh  in  her  mind.  She  did  not  dare  tell  Billy 
who  had  told  her.  She  knew  right  well  that  if  she  did 
it  would  simply  mean  that  her  lover  would  be  killed 
the  sooner.  The  odds  against  him  were  great  enough 
as  it  was. 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  eyes  were  bright  with 
pure  terror.  "I  can't  tell  you!"  she  whispered  in 
agony  of  spirit.  "  I  can't!  " 

"  Was  it  Rafe?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you !  "  twisting  her  head  to  escape  his 
eyes. 

"It  was  Rafe!" 

"  It  wasn't  Rafe !  "  she  lied  wearily.  "  It  doesn't 
matter  who  it  was.  Oh,  boy,  boy,  I  don't  dare  marry 
you  if  you  stay  here.  And  I  want  to  marry  you,  dear 
heart.  I  love  you  so !  I  love  you !  Oh,  let's  go  away 
where  we  can  be  happy  together !  Why  won't  you  be 
sensible  and  take  the  easiest  way  out?  " 

"  God  knows  I  would  if  I  could,  but  I've  got  to  play 
the  hand  out.  I  can't  back  down  because  there  may 
be  a  li'l  danger.  You  know  I  can't,  and  down  deep  you 
don't  want  me  to.  Listen.  When  you  saw  Jack  Mur- 
ray was  out  to  bushwhack  me,  what  did  you  do  ?  Did 
you  take  the  easiest  way  out  and  go  on  about  your 
business,  or  did  you  jump  right  in  and  risk  your  life  to 
save  mine?  " 

"  That  was  different,"  said  she  piteously,  realizing 
that  her  cause  was  lost,  but  fighting  to  the  last.  "  I 


II4        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

did  it  for  you.  I'd  be  willing  to  die  for  you  any  time. 
Boy!  I  love  you  so  hard,  nothing  else  matters! 
Nothing!  I'd  lie,  steal,  cheat  and  fight  for  you!  Oh, 
I'm  shameless,  shameless!  But  that's  the  way  I  love 
you!  Why  can't  you  give  up  everything  for  me  the 
way  I  would  for  you  and  take  me  away  and  marry 
me?" 

He  was  more  than  a  little  shaken.  He  had  to 
summon  all  his  resolution  to  withstand  her  pleadings. 
But  he  did  more.  He  got  upon  his  feet  and  thrust  her 
down  into  his  place  in  the  chair  and  held  her  there 
with  one  hand  for  all  she  struggled  might  and  main  to 
wind  her  arms  again  around  his  neck. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  trembled. 
"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  asking  me  to  do.  If 
I  did  it,  I'd  be  a  dog,  and  I  won't  be  a  dog  even  for 
your  sake.  Marry  me  now  and  we'll  see  it  through, 
you  and  I  together." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  —  I  can't,"  she  whispered, 
and  added  with  most  human  logic,  "  I  don't  believe  you 
love  me !  " 

At  which  he  was  moved  to  wrath.  "  It's  you  that 
don't  love  me  !  You  listen  here  !  I've  asked  you  for 
the  last  time  to  marry  me !  You  turned  me  down  for 
some  fool  notion  that  isn't  worth  a  hill  of  beans.  All 
right,  let  it  go  at  that.  If  ever  you  change  your  mind, 
you'll  have  to  come  to  me  and  put  your  arms  around 
my  neck  and  tell  me  I  was  right  to  stick  it  out  and  you 
were  wrong  to  want  me  not  to.  And  if  you  don't  do 
it,  you're  not  the  girl  I  took  you  for,  and  I  wouldn't 
look  at  you  with  a  telescope !  " 

She    sat    speechless.     Without    another    word    he 


Rafe's  Idea  115 

stooped,  swept  his  hat  from  the  floor  and  went  out. 
And,  it  must  be  said  to  his  discredit,  he  slammed  the 
door  behind  him. 

A  long  five  minutes  Hazel  was  staring  wide-eyed 
at  the  door.  But  he  did  not  come  back.  She  crept  to 
the  window.  He  was  riding  away  down  the  draw. 
He  did  not  look  back.  He  passed  out  of  sight  around 
the  bend.  Hazel  slid  quietly  to  the  floor  and,  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands,  began  to  cry  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

For  her  little  world  had  been  shattered  and  she  was 
left  disconsolate  among  the  fragments.  Her  man  did 
not  understand. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE  NEW  BROOM 

TIP  O'GoRMAN  sat  comfortably  near  the  red-hot 
stove.  The  wind  and  the  snow  were  blustering  out- 
doors. It  was  what  the  people  you  yearn  to  kill  call  a 
bracing  day  in  January.  Actually  the  weather  was 
such  that  the  well-known  brass  monkey  would  have 
been  frostbitten  in  at  least  one  ear. 

"  It's  a  good  old  world."  Tip  sighed  luxuriously 
and  wiggled  the  toes  of  his  roomy  slippers. 

Entered  then  one  who  changed  the  pleasing  aspect 
of  the  good  old  world. 

Judge  Driver  slammed  the  door  behind  him  and  un- 
tied the  comforter  that  held  the  hat  to  his  head.  He 
removed  the  hat  and  buffalo  coat,  hung  both  on  pegs 
behind  the  door,  sat  down  and  glared  at  Tip  O'Gor- 


man. 
ii 


You've  done  it  now/'  exclaimed  Judge  Driver. 
''What  particular  thing  have  you  on  your  mind?  " 
Tip  queried  equably. 

4  The  sheriff  you  were  so  set  on  having  elected !  Oh, 
yes,  says  you,  put  in  an  honest  man.  Give  the  dear 
people  a  bone  to  chew  on.  And  we  took  your  advice 
and  gave  'em  their  bone.  And  now  look  at  the  damn 
thing." 

44  What's  happened  to  the  sheriff?  " 


The  New  Broom  117 

"  Not  a  thing.  I  wish  something  would.  It's  what's 
happening  to  us  that  bothers  me.  Your  fine  li'l  love 
of  a  sheriff  is  appointing  his  own  deputies." 

"  The  law  gives  him  that  privilege." 

"  You  don't  understand.  I  had  picked  two  deputies 
for  him  to  appoint  —  good  safe  men.  You  know  that 
part  was  left  to  me,  and  I  fixed  on  Johnson  and 
Kenealy.  This  morning  I  mentioned  their  names  to 
the  new  sheriff.  *  I  thank  you  kindly  for  your  good 
intentions,'  says  Bill,  or  words  to  that  effect,  'but  I  have 
already  decided  to  appoint  Shotgun  Shillman  and  Riley 
Tyler.'  " 

"What?" 

"I'd. say  what!  I'd  say  hell,  I  would!  Ain't  it 
nice,  ain't  it  funny,  ain't  it  a  pretty  state  of  affairs? 
And  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?  " 

"  Has  he  appointed  'em  yet?  " 

u  They're  sworn  in  by  now.  He  said  he  was  expect- 
ing 'em  any  minute  when  I  left." 

"  Shillman's  the  nearest,"  said  Tip,  glancing  out  of 
the  partly  frosted  window  pane,  "  and  he  lives  forty 
miles  away.  I  wouldn't  count  on  those  boys  being  ap- 
pointed to-day.  The  storm  may  have  kept  'em  away." 

"  No  such  luck,"  growled  the  judge.  "  They're  ap- 
pointed, all  right  enough." 

"  Think  so  if  it  makes  you  happy,"  Tip  said  with  a 
grin.  "  You're  always  such  a  pessimist." 

"  Here !  "  snarled  the  judge.  "  Don't  you  try  to 
ride  me,  Tip.  Say  right  out  what  you  mean." 

"  I  did,"  smiled  Tip.     "  However  — 

"  Huh,"  snorted  the  judge,  and  put  his  feet  on  the 
table  and  began  to  pull  at  his  lower  lip. 


n8        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 


"  Shotgun  Shillman  and  Riley  Tyler,"  murmured  Tip 
musingly.  u  Hum-m-m !  " 

44  Can't  you  think  of  anything  to  do  but  buzz  like  a 
bee?  "  demanded  the  irritated  judge. 

44  There's  lots  of  things  you  can  learn  from  bees," 
protested  Tip  O'Gorman.  44  Maybe  they  do  buzz 
some,  but  they  gather  lots  of  honey." 

44  We'll  gather  lots  of  honey,  won't  we?  "  snapped 
the  other.  44  Both  Shotgun  and  Riley  are  absolutely 
honest." 

44  And  sharp  —  infernal  sharp.     Don't  forget  that." 

44  You  take  it  easy." 

44  Spilt  milk.     We've  overlooked  a  bet,  that?s  all." 

44  Oh,  that's  all  is  it?  I  tell  you  it  won't  be  all.  I've 
got  a  hunch." 

44  Don't  be  superstitious.  Politics  is  no  place  to  play 
hunches." 

44  Apparently  it  isn't  even  a  place  to  play  common 
sense,"  said  the  judge.  44  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you  and 
your  advice,  we  wouldn't  be  in  this  fix.  You  got  us  in. 
Now  you  get  us  out." 

44  You  make  me  sick,  Tom.  You're  getting  to  be  a 
regular  old  granny.  I  tell  you  there  is  no  rat  in  the 
hole.  Suppose  Bill  does  appoint  two  honest  deputies. 
There  is  still  Bill,  isn't  there?  What  are  two  deputies 
going  to  do  against  Bill's  orders?  And  Bill  will  do 
what  I  tell  him.  Oh,  yes,  he  will.  You  needn't  shake 
your  head.  I  can  manage  Bill  Wingo." 

14 1  wish  I  could  be  sure  of  that,"  worried  the  judge. 

4  You  can  be,  old-timer,  you  can  be.  I'll  manage 
Bill  as  per  invoice,  so  you  just  bed  your  mind  down 
and  give  it  a  rest.  The  bottle's  in  that  cupboard, 


The  New  Broom  119 

water's  in  the  kettle,  sugar's  on  the  table,  lemons  in 
that  box.  Help  yourself,  make  punch  and  be  happy. 
Make  enough  for  two,  while  you're  about  it.  Your 
punch  always  did  taste  better  than  mine.  I  never  could 
mix  one  to  taste  anything  like.  Lord  knows  how  you 
do  it.  It's  a  gift.  I  hear  you  had  a  long  run  of  luck 
at  Crafty's  last  night." 

Et  cetera,  words  with  end  and  amen.  Tip  O'Gor- 
man  was  a  skilful  scoundrel.  He  knew  precisely  how 
far  to  go  and  he  rarely  employed  a  shovel.  For  even 
the  dullest  have  a  wit  flash  now  and  then. 

He  soon  had  the  jurist  purring. 

To  Billy  Wingo  that  evening  came  Tip  O'Gorman; 
a  bluff,  hearty,  good-hearted  Tip ;  a  Tip  that  told  funny 
stories  and  was  a  good  listener  himself  and  laughed  at 
the  right  place.  You've  heard  it  all  before  doubtless 
and  know  the  method :  "  A  chair  for  Mr.  Dugan.  He 
owns  the  stockyards.  His  pockets  are  full  of  green- 
backs. Let  him  win  as  much  as  he  can  and  don't  forget 
to  tell  Patsy  to  be  waiting  for  him  at  the  corner  with 
the  lead  pipe  when  he  goes  out." 

The  old,  old  game,  you  see.  Shabby,  moth-eaten 
through  and  through,  fairly  obvious;  but  it  works  — 
most  of  the  time. 

"  That's  fine  whisky,  Bill,"  observed  Tip,  cupping 
an  affectionate  hand  ground  his  glass.  u  No,  no, 
tempt  me  not,  brother.  I  know  when  to  stop,  if  I  am 
old  and  sinful.  A  pleasant  fire,  a  comfortable  room, 
a  hot  drink,  and  a  cold  and  winter's  night.  What  more 
can  a  man  want?  " 

"  What  indeed?  "  said  Billy  politely.  Inwardly  he 
thought,  "  What  the  devil  does  he  want?" 


120        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

You  will  perceive  that  the  game  was  not  running  true 
to  form.  For  it  to  be  successful,  the  victim  must  not 
become  a  prey  to  low  suspicion. 

"Sworn  in  your  deputies  yet?  "  Tip  made  casual 
inquiry. 

"  Not  yet.    Storm  might  have  kept  'em  away." 
Then  all  was  not  lost.    Tip  began  to  feel  a  mental 
glow.     He  had  been  counting  on  the  storm. 

"Have  you  appointed  'em?"  he  put  the  dread 
question. 

"  Sure  thing." 
'  "Who  are  they?" 
"  Shotgun  Shillman  and  Riley  Tyler." 

"  Oh,  yes.     Good  men,  both  of  'em,  but " 

Tip  O'Gorman  fell  silent.    He  toyed  with  his  glass. 
Billy  Wingo  regarded  him  slantwise.     That  ubut." 
"Yes?" 

u  But,"  continued  Tip  O'Gorman,  "  I  know  of  bet- 
ter men." 

*  Yeah?  "     Rising  inflection  and  a  cocked  eyebrow. 
"  Yeah." 

"  For  instance?  " 
;  Johnson  and  Kenealy." 

Why  Johnson  and  Kenealy?     Why  not  Shillman 
and  Riley?" 

"  Shillman  and  Riley  never  have  done  anything  for 
the  party.  Johnson  and  Kenealy  have." 

'  What  have  Johnson  and  Kenealy  done  for  the 
party?" 

"  For  one  thing,  they  have  always  voted  right." 
'  That  is  one  thing,  but  not  a  large  thing.     Other 


u 
(( 


The  New  Broom  121 

men  have  voted  right  too  —  frequently.  Some  too  fre- 
quently; if  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Politics,  my  dear  fellow,  is  not  child's  play.  We 
do  what  we  must  to  win.  But  it  doesn't  pay  to  look  a 
gift  horse  in  the  mouth  too  closely.  He  may  bite." 
Tip  O'Gorman  stared  at  the  new  sheriff. 

The  latter  smiled  a  long,  slow  smile.  "  There  are 
muzzles,"  said  Bill  Wingo. 

Tip  dismissed  this  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  Too 
big  a  horse  and  too  many  teeth,"  said  he. 

"  Ah!  "  murmured  Billy  Wingo. 

"  Come,  come,  Bill,  you're  no  fool.  You  know 
what  I'm  after.  You  know  what  you  owe  the  party. 
Johnson  and  Kenealy  must  be  taken  care  of." 

"  Must,"  observed  Billy,  "is  the  hardest  word  in 
the  dictionary." 

"  Sometimes  it  means  the  most,"  declared  Tip 
O'Gorman.  "  This  is  one  of  those  times." 

"Ah!" 

There  it  was  again,  that  irritating  monosyllable. 
For  the  first  time  Tip  O'Gorman  began  to  experience 
a  doubt. 

"  We  expect  you  to  appoint  Johnson  and  Kenealy,'* 
he  said  bluntly. 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

"  Oh,  you  will  - —  after  you've  thought  it  over." 

"  I  thought  it  over  after  Judge  Driver  came  to  me. 
And  I  decided  not  to.  I  prefer  my  own  men." 

"Johnson  and  Kenealy  will  be  your  own  men." 

"  That  is  a  question."  Billy  sat  back  in  his  chair 
and  made  a  church  roof  and  a  steeple  with  the  fingers 
of  his  two  hands.  He  raised  lazy  gray  eyes  to  Tip's 


122        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

face.  "  That  is  a  question/1  he  repeated.  "  They 
may  be  my  men  and  then  again  —  "  He  ceased  speak- 
ing, leaving  the  sentence  unfinished.  The  church 
steeple  became  a  gallows.  "  You  see,  I  can't  risk  it," 
drawled  Billy. 

Tip  O'Gorman  carefully  set  his  glass  down  on  the 
table.  "  You  must,"  he  remarked  softly. 

"As  I  said  before,"  murmured  Billy,  his  drawl 
drawlier  than  ever,  "  must  is  a  hard,  hard  word.  But 
I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Tip,"  he  continued  in  a  louder, 
more  cheerful  tone.  "  You  show  me  what  '  musts  '  in 
the  statutes  apply  to  the  sheriff's  office,  and  I'll  obey 
every  last  one  of  'em.  When  I  took  office,  I  made 
oath  to  obey  and  support  the  laws,  you  know." 

He  smiled  at  Tip.  The  latter  smiled  back.  uLookit 
here,  Bill,"  he  said  in  his  best  and  most  fatherly 
fashion,  "  I  like  you " 

u  I  suppose  that  was  why  I  was  elected,"  inter- 
rupted Billy. 

"  Partly,"  was  the  brazen  reply.  "  But  there  were 
other  reasons,  of  course.  We  needed  a  good  man  to 

win,  a  man  that  was  on  the  level,  an  honest  man 
a » 

u  Not  a  crooked  man,  or  a  dishonest  man,  or  a  pink 
man,  or  even  a  man  with  purple  spots.  So  you  elected 
me.  I'll  take  it  as  a  compliment.  Go  on." 

"  A  straight  man  doesn't  throw  down  his  friends," 
said  Tip  O'Gorman. 

"  Sure  not,"  declared  Billy  warmly.  "  He'd  be  a 
pup  if  he  did.  I  agree  with  you,  Tip.  We  won't 
fight  over  that." 

"  You're  throwing  us  down,"  insisted  Tip. 


The  New  Broom  123 

"  Now,  we're  getting  down  to  carpet  tacks,"  said 
Billy.  "  But  who  are  'us'?" 

"  The  party." 

"The  party?" 

"  The  party." 

"  But  the  party  and  my  friends  are  not  necessarily 
the  same  thing." 

"  We  elected  you." 

''  That  doesn't  make  you  my  friends.  Understand 
me,  Tip,  there  are  a  lot  of  folks  in  the  party  I  like  and 
admire  —  a  lot  of  'em.  But  the  folks  I  like  and  admire 
don't  come  to  me  and  give  me  orders,  and  my  friends 
don't  either.  Not  that  you've  been  giving  me  any 
orders,  Tip.  You  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing." 

"  It's  all  right  to  ride  me,"  said  Tip,  without  losing 
for  a  minute  his  amiable  smile,  u  but  you  might  bet- 
ter leave  off  the  spurs." 

"  I  ain't  riding  anything  to-day,"  averred  Billy. 
"  There's  the  bowl.  Dip  you  out  another  glassful." 

Tip  O'Gorman  did  not  accept  the  invitation.  "  I 
wish  I  could  make  you  understand,"  he  said  slowly, 
crossing  his  legs  and  clasping  both  hands  around  a 
plump  knee.  "  This  is  a  serious  matter,  Bill." 

"  Sure  it  is,"  asserted  Billy.  "  You're  serious.  I'm 
serious.  He,  she  or  it  is  serious.  Outside  of  that,  it's 
a  fine,  large  evening." 

"  Lookit  here,  Bill,  what's  your  game?  " 

"  Game?      What  game  are  you  talking  about?  " 

"What  do  you  want?  What  are  you  after,  any- 
way?" 

Billy  made  swimming  motions  with  his  arms  and 


124        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

hands.  "  Paddle  out,  paddle  out.  You're  over  my 
head  and  getting  deeper." 

"  Are  you  trying  to  give  me  the  double-cross?  "  in- 
quired Tip. 

"  Now  why  should  I  do  a  fool  thing  like  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I'm  asking." 

"  What  makes  you  think  I'm  giving  you  the  double- 
cross?" 

"  The  first  favor  I  ever  asked  of  you  —  the  ap- 
pointment of  these  two  men." 

"  When  I  was  elected,  then,  it  wasn't  intended  I 
should  have  a  free  hand?" 

"  Free  hand?  Of  course,  of  course."  Tip  was  be- 
ginning to  find  the  atmosphere  oppressive.  He  passed 
a  handkerchief  across  his  beaded  brow. 

Observing  which,  Billy  said  affectionately,  "  It  is 
hot  in  here.  Shall  I  open  a  window?  " 

"  Nemmine  a  window,"  Tip  said.  "  Think  a  shake, 
Bill.  Is  it  wise?" 

"Wise?" 

"  You  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Not  I,"  denied  the  cheerful  Bill. 

"  You  can't  buck  the  party." 

"  There  ain't  no  such  word,  but  just  for  the  sake 
of  argument,  why  can't  I?" 

"  It  has  been  done,  but " 

'  Where  are  the  snows  of  yesteryear,  huh?  " 

Tip  nodded.     "  Something  like  that." 

"  If  I  don't  appoint  your  men  and  do  appoint  mine, 
what  particular  form  of  devilment  would  the  party 
feel  called  upon  to  put  on  me?  " 

"  Devilment,"  grinned  Tip.     "  You  don't  know  us." 


The  New  Broom  125 

"  Backward  and  forward,  sideways  and  from  the 
bottom  up.  Don't  you  fool  yourself  I  don't  know  you. 
I  been  looking  over  the  situation  a  long  time.  It's 
been  a  liberal  education." 

"  So  that's  it,"  murmured  Tip.  "  Driver  told  me, 
but  I  didn't  believe  him." 

"  The  judge  sometimes  tells  the  truth." 

Tip  O'Gorman  sighed.  He  thought  he  saw  what 
he  would  have  to  do.  And  he  didn't  want  to  do  it. 
It  meant  one  more  mouth  to  feed,  and  one  more  finger 
in  the  pie. 

"  You  understand,  Bill,"  said  he,  "  that  it  was  al- 
ways intended  you  should  have  your  share." 

"  Nothing  was  ever  said  to  me  about  any  share," 
said  Billy  truthfully. 

u  We  occasionally  prefer  to  leave  something  to  the 
imagination." 

"  It  beats  leaving  it  to  the  taxpayer,"  smiled  Billy. 

"  Sure,  sure." 

"  But  my  share  you  were  speaking  of,  Tip," 
prompted  Bill.  "  What  is  this  share  —  large,  small 
or  indifferent?  " 

"  That  depends,"  replied  O'Gorman  cadgily. 

"  On  the  weather,  or  some  one's  generosity?  " 

Was  there  mirth  or  something  sinister  in  the  gray 
eyes?  Tip  O'Gorman  couldn't  be  sure.  But  Lord, 
there  was  no  cause  for  apprehension.  He'd  been  mak- 
ing himself  unnecessary  worry.  Bill  Wingo  was  too 
easy-going  and  good-natured  to  hold  out  on  the  boys. 
He  was  just  making  a  play  for  his  legitimate  share. 
That  was  only  right.  Not  that  Tip  had  intended  in 


126        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

the  beginning  that  Bill  should  have  his  legitimate  share. 
These  politicians! 

"  You  see,  Bill,  it's  thisaway,"  said  Tip.  "  Some 
years  the  party  makes  more  than  other  years, 
and " 

"  And  the  years  it  makes  the  most,"  insisted  Bill, 
"are  the  years  I  make  the  most.  Is  that  it?  " 

u  You  get  the  general  idea." 

"  But  not  the  general  idea  of  what  I  get,"  persisted 
the  strangely  obtuse  sheriff.  "  What  is  the  minimum 
I  can  expect?  " 

Tip  did  not  relish  being  pinned  down  to  cases  in 
this  fashion.  He  preferred  generalities. 

"  The  minimum,"  repeated  Tip. 

"  And  the  maximum,"  suggested  Bill.  "  I  might  as 
well  know  all  the  horrible  details." 

"  From  three  to  five  thousand  dollars,"  said  Tip, 
watching  his  vis-frvis  closely. 

Said  vis-a*vis  looked  disappointed.  "  Small  change," 
he  remarked  coldly.  "  Who  gets  the  other  nickle?" 

'  Your  salary  is  two  thousand,"  Tip  told  him  re- 
proachfully, "  and  three  to  five  thousand  above  that 
makes  five  to  seven  thousand.  What  more  do  you 
want?" 

;<  Whatever's  right,"  declared  the  amazing  Mr. 
Wingo. 

"  That's  right  —  what  I  told  you." 

"  What  did  the  last  sheriff  get?  " 

" 1  told  you  it  varied." 

"  I  know  you  told  me.     Tell  me  again." 

Tip  O'Gorman  shifted  his  position  in  the  chair.  He 
was  being  baited.  He  realized  it  now.  A  slow  anger 


The  New  Broom  127 

rose  in  his  breast.  But  an  admixture  of  dismay  in  the 
anger  kept  it  from  boiling  over. 

He  continued  to  temporize.  "  Your  slice  will  be 
worth  while,  well  worth  while.  Leave  it  to  us.  You 
can  trust  me." 

"Can  I?     I  wonder." 

"Meaning?"  O'  Gorman's  face  was  cold  as  his 
heart  was  hot. 

"  I  wonder.  I  do  it  now  and  then.  Habit,  I  sup- 
pose. No  harm  in  it,  is  there?  " 

"  Lookit  here,  you  don't  doubt  me,  do  you?  " 

"Unhand  me,  Jack  Dalton!  I  may  be  poor — I 
may  starve  to  death,  but  I  will  never  be  an  old  man's 
plaything.  Better  death  than  dishonor-rur-rur.  Don't 
be  so  melodramatic,  Tip.  Who  am  I  to  doubt  you? 
You?  What  a  question!  " 

The  fingers  with  whkh  Billy  Wingo  then  proceeded 
to  make  a  cigarette  were  steady  and  sure  in  every 
movement.  Billy  licked  the  length  of  the  white  roll, 
smoothed  it  down  and  twisted  one  end.  Tip  O'Gor- 
man  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him.  Or  rather 
he  thought  he  knew  too  well,  which  frequently  amounts 
to  the  same  thing. 

"  You'd  better  trust  me,"  rumbled  Tip. 

"  Be  reasonable,  Tip.  You  ask  for  trust  and  you 
give  me  a  stone." 

"A  stone?" 

"  What  else  is  three  to  five  thousand  bucks,  I'd  like 
to  know.  I'm  no  child,  man.  I've  got  my  growth,  and 
I've  put  away  childish  things,  including  all-day 
suckers." 

"  You  must  take  me  for  one." 


128        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Not  you,  not  in  a  million  years.  But  —  "  Mr. 
Wingo  paused  and  looked  up  at  the  ceiling.  His  lips 
moved.  He  muttered  of  figures  and  sums. 

Tip  O'Gorman  awaited  his  pleasure.  What  else 
was  there  to  do? 

"  I  think  between  nine  and  ten  thousand  is  nearer 
the  correct  amount  for  li'l  me,"  Billy  said  at  last. 

"What?"  screeched  Tip,  fairly  jarred  off  his  bal- 
ance at  last. 

Billy  made  his  position  plain.  "  Say  ten  thousand 
in  round  numbers." 

"Ten  thousand  devils!" 

11  Not  devils  —  dollars." 

"You're  crazy!" 

"  It's  the  least  you  can  do,"  insisted  Billy. 

Tip  O'Gorman  made  an  odd  noise  in  his  throat. 
After  making  which,  a  dog  would  have  bitten  Mr. 
Wingo.  Tip  may  have  been  a  bad  old  man,  but  he 
was  not  a  dog.  He  really  dissembled  his  foamingly 
murderous  rage  very  well  indeed. 

"  I'll  have  to  see  the  rest  of  the  boys,"  said  Tip 
O'Gorman,  and  he  actually  smiled. 

"  Why,  no,"  contradicted  Billy.  "  You  won't.  Why 
should  you?  Rafe  and  you  are  the  dogs  with  the  brass 
collars  in  Crocker  County,  and  you  wear  more  brass 
than  Rafe,  when  you  come  right  down  to  it.  What 
you  say  usually  goes  without  question." 

"  I  never  said  ten  thousand  for  a  sheriff  before," 
protested  Tip. 

''  There's  nothing  like  establishing  a  precedent. 
Don't  be  hidebound.  This  is  the  newer  generation, 
and  advanced  age,  you  know;  one  that's  advanced  by 


The  New  Broom  129 

jumps,  if  you  could  only  be  brought  to  realize  it." 

Tip  held  up  an  arresting  hand.  "  Don't  joke,"  he 
said.  "  I  realize  what  the  blessed  age  is  doing,  but 
doubling  the  ante  this  way  is  more  than  a  jump  —  it's 
a  mighty  wild  leap." 

"  It  can  be  done,"  Billy  said  placidly.  "  What  are 
impossibilities  to-day  become  realities  to-morrow.  Q. 
E.  D.  P.  D.  Q." 

Tip  O'Gorman  raised  plump  hands  to  the  level  of 
his  ears.  "  I  didn't  think  when  I  proposed  you  for 
sheriff,"  he  remarked  earnestly,  "  that  I  was  proposing 
a  road  agent  too.  Oh,  you  burglar!  I  do  admire  a 
hawg.  Yes,  sir.  But  what  can  a  feller  do?  Ten 
thousand  goes.  About  those  deputies  —  I  don't  sup- 
pose you'll  have  any  objections,  now  that  you've  got 
what  you  want,  to  appointing  Johnson  and  Kenealy?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  I  have  —  plenty.  No  Johnson 
and  no  Kenealy.  Shillman  and  Tyler.  Yes." 

"  No.    You've  got  to  earn  that  ten  thousand." 

"  Bribery  and  corruption,  Tip,  is  a  serious  crime." 

"  Bosh !  You  listen  to  me,  young  feller.  We're 
buying  you,  body,  soul  and  roll,  with  that  ten  thousand 
cases !  You've  got  to  do  as  we  say.  Hells  bells,  what 
do  you  think  you  are?" 

"  A  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  Damn  strange,  too. 
Tip,  you're  an  old  scoundrel!  " 

Tip  O'Gorman's  hand  halted  half-way  to  his  arm- 
pit. 

"  No,  no,  Tip,  not  that,"  Billy  warned  him,  keeping 
turned  on  the  other  man's  stomach  the  gun  that  had 
suddenly  appeared  from  nowhere.  u  Don't  turn  rusty 
in  here.  The  carpet  is  new  and  so  is  the  furniture.  Go 


130        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

a  li'l  slow,  or  a  li'l  slower,  whichever  appeals  to  you.'* 

Tip  locked  his  hands  behind  his  head.  "  Be  sensible, 
Bill,"  said  he  calmly.  "  You  can't  hope  to  buck  us,  if 
that's  your  idea.  You  can't." 

"  Can't  I?    We'll  see." 

u  What  can  one  man  do?  "  contemptuously. 

"  One-two-three.  Three  men.  Three  men  can  do  a 
lot.  Yep.  I've  seen  it  done." 

44  Have  you?" 

44  I  have.  But  I  want  to  be  fair  to  you,  Tip.  You'll 
notice  I  haven't  removed  your  gun.  I'll  return  mine 
where  it  came  from  —  behind  the  waistband  of  my 
pants.  Now  turn  your  wolf  loose." 

But  Tip  O'Gorman  merely  smiled.  u  I  thank  you 
kindly,"  said  he.  "  You  mean  well;  but  as  you  say, 
the  carpet  and  the  furniture  are  new.  It  would  be  a 
pity  to  spoil  both  them  and  the  evening." 

"  You  mean  we'll  go  outdoors  then?  " 

"  We  will  not,  but  /  will.  You  will  stay  here  and, 
I  hope,  enjoy  one  good  night's  rest." 

"  One,  huh?  Do  I  hear  you  say  one?  I  do.  I  get 
your  meaning,  thank  you.  So  good  of  you.  Don't 
get  up.  I  would  a  tale  unfold.  Did  you  ever  hear  the 
story  of  Benjy  and  the  bear.  No?  This  is  it.  Benjy 
was  out  hunting  one  day  and  it  happened  the  bear  was 
out  hunting  too.  For  the  bear  was  hungry,  and  the 
bear  saw  Benjy  before  Benjy  saw  the  bear.  And 
after  the  dust  had  cleared  away  and  all,  the  bear  was 
bulgy  and  the  bulge  was  Benjy." 

"  Huh,"  snorted  Tip  O'Gorman,  44  what  does  that 
prove?" 

"  It  proves   that  it's  better  to  be   the   bear  than 


The  New  Broom  131 

Benjy.  At  least,  that's  the  way  it  looks  to  a  man  up  a 
tree.  I  made  up  my  mind  some  time  ago  that  if  I 
got  tangled  up  in  a  situation  like  that  I'd  be  the  bear 
and  not  Benjy." 

Tip  O'Gorman  stared  with  an  odd  expression  at 
Billy  Wingo.  '  You  have  changed,"  he  remarked  with 
conviction.  "I  wonder " 

"  Give  it  a  name,"  begged  Billy,  when  Tip  failed  to 
complete  the  sentence. 

Mr.  O'Gorman  shook  his  bullet  head.  "  No,  I 
got  other  fish  to  fry." 

He  got  up  heavily  and  began  to  pull  on  his  over- 
coat. 

When  he  was  gone,  Billy  Wingo  crossed  the  room 
unhurriedly  and  barred  the  door.  He  threw  a  quick 
glance  at  the  blankets  nailed  across  the  windows  os- 
tensibly to  keep  out  the  drafts.  All  tight.  No  one 
could  look  in. 

"  All  right,  boys,"  he  said  in  a  conversational  tone. 
"  You  can  come  out  now." 

The  door  of  an  inner  room  opened.  Two  men 
emerged.  One  was  a  long,  lean  citizen  with  a  long, 
lean  face  barred  by  a  heavy  grizzled  mustache.  The 
other  was  shorter,  of  equally  lean  build,  and  consider- 
ably younger.  The  older  man  was  Shotgun  Shillman, 
the  younger  was  Riley  Tyler. 

In  Riley's  hand  was  a  thin  block  of  paper.  A  pencil 
stuck  up  behind  his  ear. 

"  Did  you  get  it  all?"  queried  Billy,  sitting  down 
in  his  chair  and  hunching  it  close  to  the  table. 

"  Most  of  it,"  Riley  replied.  "  All  the  impor- 
tant part,  especially  where  he  tried  to  buy  you  up. 


132        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Gee,  youVe  got  him  now.  Send  him  over  the  road 
any  time." 

"  But  it's  only  Tip,"  said  Billy,  taking  the  block  of 
paper  from  Riley  and  riffling  through  the  scribbled 
leaves. 

"  Arresting  him  would  sure  throw  a  heap  scare  into 
the  others,"  Riley  grinned. 

uAnd  that  is  what  I  want  to  avoid,"  said  Billy. 
u  There's  no  use  in  scaring  off  the  flock  by  downing  one 
bird.  We'll  just  file  away  Tip  O'Gorman's  remarks 
for  future  reference.  We  can  afford  to  wait.  Where's 
that  Bible?  I'll  swear  you  boys  in  right  away." 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY 

IT  was  the  next  day  that  Arthur  Rale,  the  district 
attorney,  called  on  the  new  sheriff.  He  was  a  heavy- 
jowled,  heavy-handed,  heavy-bodied  individual,  with 
black  hair,  close-set  eyes,  and,  what  was  curiously  at 
variance  with  those  heavy  jowls,  a  long  and  pointed 
nose. 

Billy  Wingo  was  expecting  the  district  attorney  to 
pay  him  a  visit.  For  Shotgun  Shillman  had  been  told 
that  Tip  O'Gorman,  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  Judge  Driver 
had  spent  the  morning  closeted  with  that  gentleman. 

Billy  Wingo  was  cleaning  a  Winchester  when  the 
district  attorney  knocked  and  entered. 

"  Si'down,  Arthur,"  invited  Bill,  indicating  a  chair 
with  the  barrel  of  the  rifle. 

The  district  attorney  returned  the  salutation  gruffly. 
Billy  smiled  sweetly  down  at  the  rifle  stock  he  was  hand- 
rubbing.  Mr.  Rale  stamped  his  feet,  hung  up  his 
hat  and  coat  and  sat  down  heavily  in  the  chair.  Rest- 
ing both  fists  on  his  knees,  he  fixed  Billy  with  a  hard 
eye. 

"  What's  this  I  hear?"  he  wished  to  hear. 

"  I  dunno,"  said  truthful  William. 

"  I  hear  you've  appointed  Shillman  and  Tyler  depu- 
ties," Rale  said  accusingly. 


134        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Seems  to  me  I  have  done  something  like  that," 
admitted  Billy. 

"  You've  got  to  cancel  their  appointments." 

"  Got  to?" 

"  Got  to." 

"  I  must  be  gettin'  deaf,"  drawled  Billy.  "  Seems 
like  I  heard  you  say  got  to." 

".You  heard  me  right,"  declared  Rale,  with  a  vi- 
cious snap  of  strong,  white  teeth.  "  You  cancel  those 
appointments  and  put  in  Johnson  and  Kenealy  instead." 

"  Everybody  seems  to  want  those  two  fellers,"  said 
Billy,  wagging  a  puzzled  head.  "  I  don't  understand 
it." 

The  district  attorney  leaned  forward.  His  broad, 
flat  face  was  venomous  in  its  expression. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  harshly,  "  you  like  Hazel 
Walton,  don't  you?  " 

Whang!  In  that  confined  space  the  crash  of  the 
gun  was  deafening.  The  district  attorney,  coughing 
in  the  smoke,  picked  up  himself  and  his  chair  from  the 
ground.  He  had  fallen  over  backward  at  the  shot, 
struck  the  back  of  his  head  and  now  his  actions  were 
purely  mechanical. 

"Dazed  you  like,  didn't  it?"  Billy  queried  in  a 
soft  voice.  "  You  did  hit  pretty  hard.  Luck  is  with 
you  to-day.  I'll  bet  if  you  went  down  to  Crafty's, 
you'd  bust  the  bank  and  Crafty's  heart." 

Rale  did  not  take  the  palpable  hint.  He  sat  down 
again  and  looked  uncertainly  at  Billy  Wingo.  He  had 
courage,  this  district  attorney,  the  species  of  courage, 
you  understand,  that  to  function  properly  must  have 


The  District  Attorney  135 

a  shade  the  better  of  the  break,  that  bets  always  on  a 
sure  thing  and  never  on  an  uncertainty. 

Rale  had  been  knocked  off  balance  mentally  and 
physically.  He  did  the  wrong  thing. 

"  You  tried  to  murder  me,"  he  blurted  out. 

Billy  shook  a  solemn  head.  "  You're  mistaken.  If 
Td  tried  to  murder  you,  I'd  have  done  it.  Accidents 
will  happen,  though,  even  to  the  most  careful  fellers. 
Yeah.  You  were  speaking  of  the  Waltons,  Arthur. 
I  didn't  quite  catch  what  you  said." 

He  gazed  expectantly  at  the  district  attorney.  It 
seemed  to  the  latter  that  the  barrel  of  the  rifle  was 
in  a  line  with  the  third  button  of  his  vest.  Certainly 
the  muzzle  looked  as  large  as  a  mine  opening.  Was 
the  rifle  cocked?  Billy  Wingo's  large  hand  covered  the 
breech.  Billy  moved  the  large  hand  a  trifle.  Yes,  the 
rifle  was  cocked.  The  district  attorney's  eyes  strayed 
downward.  "At  Billy's  feet  was  a  spent  shell. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Rale,  "  if  that  shot  was  an  acci- 
dent, why  did  you  flip  in  a  fresh  cartridge?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  I  worked  the  lever  ?  "  demanded 
Billy. 

"  Because  the  spent  shell's  on  the  floor  between  your 
feet." 

"  You've  been  reading  those  detective  stories  again. 
Arthur.  It  would  look  mighty  bad  for  me  if  you  were 
to  pass  out  in  here  to-night.  You're  a  big  man  and  a 
heavy  man.  And  the  ground  is  frozen  harder  than 
rock.  Bet  I'd  have  to  use  a  pick.  I  hope,  Arthur, 
you're  not  thinking  of  doing  anything  to  make  me  use 
a  pick." 

Billy  had  uttered  these  sinister  words  in   a  mild 


136        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

and  plaintive  tone.  The  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  even  milder  and  more  plaintive.  The  district 
attorney  found  it  difficult  to  believe  that  he  had  heard 
aright.  Yet  he  had  heard  the  report  of  the  rifle 
aright.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  that. 

The  district  attorney  sat  rigidly  erect.  He  cleared 
his  throat.  He  wished  his  heart  would  stop  pounding 
so  hard.  Odd,  too,  that  it  should  seem  to  have  moved 
out  of  its  usual  position  to  another  that  was  already 
occupied  by  his  windpipe.  Breathing  and  speaking 
were  rendered  difficult.  Quite  so. 

He  cleared  his  throat  again.  "Wingo,"  he  said, 
"  are  you  threatening  me  ?  " 

"  Threatening  you?  "  Billy  said  in  a  shocked  tone. 
"  Certainly  not.  Wouldn't  think  of  such  a  thing." 

The  district  attorney  tried  again.  "  Wingo,  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  you.  I " 

"  Don't  do  anything,"  suggested  Billy.  "  I'd  feel 
better  about  it,  too." 

"Huh?" 

4  Yeah,  I  would.  I've  got  a  new  job  here,  Arthur, 
and  I  guess  it  will  keep  me  busy  —  busy  enough,  any- 
way. And  how  am  I  going  to  swing  it  and  do  justice 
to  the  taxpayers,  if  well-meaning  fellers  like  you  are 
alia  time  experimentin'  with  me?  " 

"  Wingo,"  said  the  district  attorney  sternly,  "  stop 
this  tomfoolery !  Instantly !  You  have  played  the 
buffoon  long  enough." 

"  All  right,"  smiled  Billy.     "  I'll  be  good." 

"  That's  better.  Much  better.  Keep  to  that  tone 
and  we'll  get  along,  we'll  get  along." 

Again  the  district  attorney  cleared  his  throat. 


The  District  Attorney  137 

u  Lord,  Lord,"  thought  Billy  Wingo  "  what  a  fool- 
ish  thing  this  man  is !  " 

The  district  attorney  picked  up  the  thread  of  his 
discourse.  '  We  can't  have  you  upsetting  our  plans  in 
any  way,  Wingo.  We  can't  have  it,  and  we  won't  have 
it.  I  order  you  to  immediately  cancel  the  appointments 
of  Shillman  and  Tyler  and  appoint  instead  Johnson  and 
Kenealy.  Do  you  understand?  " 

4  Yes,"  said  Billy  in  a  weary  voice,  u  I  understand. 
I  understand  perfectly.  You  can  go  now." 

"  I'll  go  when  I  have  your  answer." 
'  Your  mistake.     You're  going  now." 

So  saying,  Billy  arose,  lowered  the  hammer  of  his 
rifle  to  the  safety  notch  and  laid  the  weapon  on  the 
table.  Then  he  raised  himself  on  tiptoe  and  stretched 
luxuriously.  His  arms  came  down  slowly.  He  turned 
a  surprised  gaze  upon  the  district  attorney. 

"  Haven't  you  started  yet?"  he  said  brisklv. 
"  Come,  come,  get  a-going." 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  leaped  with  cat-like  agility 
upon  the  district  attorney  where  he  sat  in  his  chair 
and  wrenched  the  right  arm  of  that  surprised  gentle- 
man around  behind  his  back.  With  his  left  hand,  de- 
spite the  struggles  and  protesting  roars  of  the  captive, 
he  removed  a  six-shooter  from  a  shoulder  holster  and 
a  derringer  from  a  vest  pocket. 

"  You  must  be  scared  of  some  one,"  observed  Billy 
Wingo,  as  the  derringer  followed  the  six-shooter  to  a 
place  on  the  table.  "  Arise,  pushing  your  stomach 
ahead  of  you,  and  depart  in  peace." 

But  the  district  attorney  was  averse  to  departing 
that  way.  "  You  will  regret  this  outrage !  "  he  bel- 


138        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

lowed,  his  ripe  cheeks  and  the  veins  in  his  neck  swollen 
with  passion. 

"  So  will  you,"  said  Billy,  twisting  the  man's  arm 
ever  so  slightly.  "  You  are  in  a  serious  position.  If 
you'd  only  realize  it,  and  be  reasonable,  we'd  all  be 
happier.  I  don't  want  to  break  your  arm  —  unless 
I  have  to.  Observe,  Mr.  Man,  how  easily  I  could 
do  it." 

So  saying,  he  pushed  the  district  attorney's  arm 
somewhat  farther  up  his  back.  The  district  attorney 
groaned.  Billy  eased  the  pressure.  The  district  at- 
torney began  to  curse.  Billy,  boosting  him  with  his 
knee,  assisted  him  toward  the  door. 

With  his  left  hand  Billy  withdrew  the  bar  from  the 
staple,  opened  the  door,  swung  his  right  foot  and  kicked 
the  district  attorney  out  into  a  snowdrift.  After  him 
Billy  tossed  his  coat  and  cap.  Then  he  closed  the  door 
and  shoved  the  bar  into  place. 

"  And  that's  that,"  said  Billy  Wingo. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

A  SHORT  HORSE 

"  You  took  your  own  time  about  coming/'  grunted 
Rafe'  Tuckleton. 

Dan  Slike  crossed  his  knees  and  stared  at  Rafe  and 
Skinny  Shindle.  "  I  always  take  my  own  time,"  said 
he,  in  a  voice  as  blank  and  expressionless  as  his  ice- 
blue  eyes.  "  Why  hurry?" 

"  Because  you  should  have  hurried,"  nagged  Rafe. 
"  Y'oughta  come  when  I  wrote  you  last  summer.  This 
Tom  Walton  has  gone  on  living  all  fall,  and  here  it 
is  January  and  he  ain't  dead  yet." 

"  That's  tough,"  sympathized  Mr.  Slike  and  wagged 
a  belying  foot. 

Skinny  Shindle,  looking  somewhat  worried,  went  to 
the  door,  opened  it  and  looked  out  into  the  short  hall. 
Satisfied  that  the  breed  cook  was  busy  in  the  kitchen, 
he  closed  the  door  and  returned  to  his  chair. 

"  It's  worse'n  that.  Tom  ain't  the  only  li'l  job  I 
want  you  to  attend  to.  There's  the  sheriff,  Billy 
Wingo." 

"  That  will  be  extra." 

"  Extra?" 

"  You  haven't  any  idea  I'm  gonna  do  two  jobs 
for  the  price  of  one,  have  you?  " 

"  Well " 


140        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Well,  nothin'.  I  ain't  in  the  business  for  my 
health,  you  can  gamble  on  that.  If  you're  looking  for 
charity,  you're  roping  at  the  wrong  horse. " 

"  No,  no,  nothing  like  that,"  Rafe  hastened  to  say. 
"  I'll  do  whatever's  right  and  fair.  You  can  trust 

me." 

Dan  Slike  shook  a  slow  head.  An  amused  twinkle 
lightened  those  blank  eyes.  u  Oh,  yes,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
almost  sure  I  can  trust  you.  Yeah.  Almost." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  blustered  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

"  Folks  I  talk  to  don't  generally  need  any  diction- 
ary," said  Slike. 

"  Huh,"  grunted  Rafe,  content  to  let  it  go  at  that. 
"Anyway,  you'll  be  well  paid." 

"  I  didn't  come  alia  way  from  the  Jornada  just  to 
hear  you  say  I'd  be  well  paid.  Your  i  well  paid  '  and 
my  l  well  paid  '  might  be  two  different  things.  Some- 
times you  and  I  don't  talk  the  same  language." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  considered  a  moment.  "  Five  hun- 
dred dollars  apiece  for  Tom  and  the  sheriff,"  said  he, 
looking  at  Slike  from  beneath  lowered  eyebrows. 

11  We'll  bargain  for  'em  separately,"  said  Slike. 
"  One  thousand  for  Tom,  payable  in  advance." 

"  No,"  denied  Rafe.     "  Too  much." 

"Aw  right,"  assented  Slike  cheerfully.  "I'll  be 
pulling  my  freight  for  New  Mexico  to-morrow.  What 
you  gonna  have  for  dinner?  " 

"  Let's  talk  it  over.  One  thousand  dollars  is  a  lot 
of  money  for  a  li'l  job  like  rubbing  out  Tom  Walton." 

"  If  it's  a  li'l  job,  why  don't  you  attend  to  it  your- 
self?" 


A  Short  Horse  141 

"  Oh,  I  can't.  Impossible.  Why,  man,  consider 
my  position/' 

u  Sure,  I  understand.  You'd  rather  live  than  have 
Tom  Walton  kill  you.  Don't  know  that  I  blame  you, 
Rafe.  You  always  were  a  sensible  jasper." 

Slike's  eyes  dwelt  on  Rafe's  face  with  tolerant  con- 
tempt. The  red  color  of  Rafe's  leathery  cheeks  was 
not  entirely  due  to  the  heat  of  the  cannon-ball  stove. 
No. 

"  I'm  not  a  gunfighter,"  disclaimed  Rafe  quickly. 
"  Never  was.  That's  your  job." 

"  And  I  am  a  gunfighter.  Always  was.  And  it's 
my  job.  And  I  intend  to  get  my  price  for  my  job. 
One  thousand  in  advance,  or  the  deal's  off." 

"  I'm  not  a  rich  man,"  protested  Rafe.  "  I  lack 
ready  money.  So  does  Mr.  Shindle  here.  Say  five 
hundred  now  and  the  rest  in  the  spring." 

"  I  know  how  rich  you  are,"  said  Slike.  "  And  I 
can  make  a  fair  guess  how  you  and  Mr.  Shindle  stand 
for  ready  money.  You  can  raise  the  thousand  without 
too  much  trouble,  I  guess.  Anyhow,  it  goes." 

"  You  drive  a  hard  bargain." 

"  A  man  in  my  business  can't  afford  to  be  squeam- 
ish." As  Slike  spoke  his  eyes  narrowed. 

"But " 

"  No  buts.    You  want  Walton  killed " 

"  Sh-h !  Not  so  loud,"  cautioned  Skinny  Shindle. 
"  Removed  is  a  better  word  than  killed,  anyway." 

"  Aw,  hell,"  sneered  Dan  Slike,  "  you  make  me  sick. 
I've  got  no  use  for  a  jigger  that  don't  call  a  cow  by 
its  right  name.  I  dunno  the  first  thing  about  remov- 
ing. But  I'll  kill  anybody  you  say.  I  ain't  a  bit  par- 


142        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

ticular.      Not   a   bit."      Here    Slike    bent   on    Skinny 
Shindle  the  full  measure  of  a  most  baleful  regard. 

The  strangely  squeamish  Shindle  strove  manfully 
to  stare  down  the  other  man,  but  dropped  his  eyes 
within  the  minute.  This  appeared  to  please  Mr.  Slike. 
He  smiled  crookedly  and  turned  his  attention  to 
Tuckleton. 

u  Rafe,"  said  he,  "  my  time  is  money.  I  can't  stand 
here  higgle-hoggling  with  you  from  hell  to  breakfast. 
One  thousand,  or  you  get  somebody  else  to  do  the 
job." 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  do  as  you  say,"  Rafe  grum- 
bled. "  And  the  same  amount  for  the  sheriff." 

"  Not-a-tall,"  denied  Slike.  "  Not  a-tall.  Do  you 
think  I'm  gonna  rub  out  a  sheriff  for  a  thousand  cases? 
You  must  have  mush  for  a  brain!  Killing  a  rancher 
is  a  short  hoss,  but  a  sheriff  is  another  breed  of  cat. 
Besides,  he's  got  two  deputies,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
feelings  of  the  county.  Killing  this  sheriff  for  you 
means  I  gotta  leave  the  county  on  the  jump.  Do  you 
think  I'm  gonna  run  the  risk  of  being  lynched  for  a 
measly  thousand  dollars?  If  you  do,  take  another 
think.  Take  two  of  'em!  Me,  I'll  take  two  thousand 
for  your  man." 

4  Two  thousand  dollars  for  simply  shooting  a 
sheriff?" 

"  Again  lemme  remark  that  if  the  business  was  as 
simple  as  you  say  it  is,  you'd  do  it  yourself.  Two 
thousand  in  advance." 

"  But  that's  three  thousand  in  all." 
1  You're   a  wonder   at   arithmetic.      I  make   three 
thousand  too." 


A  Short  Horse  143 

"  But  look  here,  Dan,  we " 

"  I'm  looking/'  interrupted  Slike,  "  and  three 
thousand  dollars  is  all  I  can  see.  You  gotta  expect  to 
pay  for  your  mistakes,  Rafe.  If  you  didn't  want  to 
have  this  sheriff  hold  office,  what  did  you  elect  him 
for?  You  told  me  your  political  outfit  was  re- 
sponsible." 

"  How  could  we  tell  he'd  turn  out  this  way?  We 
took  it  for  granted  he'd  do  what  the  party  wanted, 
and  the  first  card  out  of  the  box  he  appoints  his  own 
deputies." 

"  Good  men  with  a  gun?  " 

"  Both  of  'em,"  Rafe  nodded  absently. 

"  Wingo's  no  slouch  himself,"  Shindle  supplied  with- 
out thinking. 

"  And  that's  the  kind  of  bunch  you  want  me  to  go 
up  against  for  a  thousand  dollars!"  exclaimed  Dan 
Slike.  "You  fellers  sure  have  your  nerve !  " 

Slike  teetered  his  chair  back  on  two  legs  and  laughed 
loudly,  but  without  cheer.  Rafe  and  Skinny  found 
themselves  somewhat  chilled  by  the  sardonic  merri- 
ment. They  looked  one  upon  the  other.  Slike  caught 
the  look  and  laughed  anew. 

"  You're  a  fine  pair,"  he  said  loudly,  "  a  fine  pair. 
Letting  a  two-by-four  sheriff  run  you.  Ha-ha,  it's  a 
joke!" 

"  You  go  slow,  you  hear!  "  directed  Skinny  Shindle. 

Dan  Slike's  eyes  slid  round  to  survey  Skinny.  "  Me 
go  slow?"  he  drawled,  "Who'll  make  me?  You? 
Not  you  or  Rafe  either.  Wanna  know  why?  Because 
I'm  the  best  man  in  the  room,  that's  why.  Wanna 
argue  the  matter?  " 


144        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Apparently  neither  Skinny  nor  Rafe  cared  to  argue. 
At  least  they  made  no  audible  reply  to  the  challenge. 

Dan  Slike  nodded  a  satisfied  head.  "  Now  that's 
settled,  let's  go  back  to  business.  About  that  three 
thousand  —  yes  or  no?" 

Skinny  looked  at  Rafe.  Rafe  looked  at  Skinny. 
Skinny  shook  his  head.  Rafe  nodded  his.  Dan  Slike, 
missing  nothing  of  the  byplay,  smiled  delightedly.  His 
thin  lips  curled  into  a  crooked  sneer. 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  difference  of  opinion,"  said 
Dan  Slike.  "  Give  it  a  name." 

"  Three  thousand  is  too  much,"  averred  Skinny 
Shindle. 

"  You'll  only  have  to  pay  half  of  it,"  said  Rafe. 

u  But  this  payment  in  advance  —  I  don't  like  it," 
objected  Skinny  Shindle. 

Dan  Slike's  boots  came  down  from  the  table.  They 
came  down  with  a  certain  amount  of  speed,  yet  curi- 
ously enough  they  made  not  the  slightest  noise  as 
soles  and  heels  struck  the  floor.  Dan  Slike's  chair 
creaked  as  his  body  turned  ever  so  slightly  sidewise. 

"  Shindle,"  said  he  softly,  "  you  ain't  thinking  I 
wouldn't  keep  my  part  of  the  bargain  if  I  take  your 
money,  are  you?  " 

u  No,  oh,  no,"  Skinny  reassured  him  hastily.  "  Of 
course  you  would." 

4  This  being  so,"  pursued  Dan  Slike,  u  what's  the 
difference  whether  you  pay  me  now  or  later?" 

'  Why,  none,"  admitted  Skinny,  finding  himself  fair- 
ly cornered.  "  None  whatever.  I  —  we  will  pay  you 
what  you  ask." 

"  Spoken  like  a  li'l  man,"  fleered  Dan  Slike,  and 


A  Short  Horse  145 

switched  his  gaze  to  Tuckleton's  face.  "  Second  the 
motion,  Rafe?  " 

"  On  one  condition." 

"  Let's  have  it?" 

"  You  finish  both  jobs  within  thirty  days." 

"  No,  not  thirty  days,  old-timer,  nor  yet  forty-five. 
Sixty." 

"  Thirty." 

"  Sixty  days  from  to-night  and  the  three  thousand 
dollars,  half  gold,  half  bills,  in  my  pocket  by  noon  to- 
morrow." 

"  Oh,  hell,  all  right!  "  Rafe  cried,  tossing  up  help- 
less hands.  "  Come  around  here  to-morrow  noon  and 
get  your  money." 

Dan  Slike  nodded.  "  Guess  I'll  be  going,  Rafe  — 
No,  nemmine  dinner,  I  ain't  hungry  now." 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

THE  TRAPPERS 

"  IT'S  the  women  make  half  the  trouble  in  the 
world, "  mused  young  Riley  Tyler,  who  had  received 
the  mitten  from  his  girl  of  the  period,  the  restaurant 
waitress,  and  was  a  misogynist  in  consequence. 

"  You're  wrong,"  said  Shotgun  Shillman.  "  They 
make  all  of  it." 

"All?" 

"  All.  And  not  only  that  —  they  make  all  the  good, 
too.  Yep,  Riley,  you  can  put  down  a  bet  there  ain't 
a  thing  happens  to  a  feller  —  good,  bad  or  indifferent 
—  that  you  won't  find  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
A  good  man  goes  to  hell  or  heaven  —  it  depends  on 
the  woman." 

"  That's  right,  dead  right,"  corroborated  young 
Riley. 

4  Those  fatal  blondes!"  grinned  Shotgun;  for  the 
waitress  was  decidedly  of  that  type. 

1  They're  all  deceivers,"  muttered  Riley  Tyler,  red- 
dening to  his  ear  tips. 

"  Ain't  it  the  truth !  "  said  Shotgun  Shillman.  "  They 
can  lie  to  you  with -a  straighter  face  than  a  govern- 
ment mule.  Like  that  jail  lady  in  the  Bible  who  put 
the  kybosh  on  a  feller  named  Scissors  by  nailing  his 
head  to  the  kitchen  floor  with  a  railroad  spike.  Yeah, 


The  Trappers  147 

her.  Hugging  him  she  was  ten  minutes  before  using 
the  hammer.  Oh,  that's  their  best  bet;  kiss  you  with 
one  hand  and  cut  your  throat  with  the  other/' 

"  That's  news,"  said  Riley  Tyler.  "  Where  I  come 
from  the  gent  kisses  with  his  mouth,  and  if  he  has  to 
cut  your  throat  he  uses  the  butcher  knife." 

"  Did  that  hasher  do  all  those  things?"  Shotgun 
asked  instantly. 

Riley  made  believe  not  to  hear.     Shotgun  chuckled. 

"  Billy's  coming  back,"  observed  the  latter,  gazing 
through  the  window.  "  Where  did  he  go?  " 

"  Walton's,  he  said." 

"  I  thought  he  liked  Hazel  Walton." 

"  He  likes  'em  all."  Thus  Riley,  thinking  of  the 
scornful  waitress  who  did  not  like  him.  '  'Lo,  Bill, 
remember  to  wipe  your  feet  on  the  mat.  Li'l  paddies 
all  cold?" 

"  She's  a-thawing,"  replied  Billy  Wingo,  kicking  the 
snow  from  his  boots.  "  But  I  need  a  large,  long,  hot 
drink  alia  same.  Where  is  that  bottle?  " 

When  the  bottle  and  the  three  glasses  had  been 
returned  to  their  appointed  place  between  the  horse 
liniment  and  the  spare  handcuffs,  Riley  moved  list- 
lessly to  the  front  window  and  drummed  on  the  pane. 

"  Oh,  the  devil,"  Riley  groaned.  "  Here's  work  for 
li'l  boys.  As  if  there  wasn't  enough  to  do  in  summer." 

"  Good  thing  to-day's  a  chinook,"  remarked  Shill- 
man,  without  interest. 

Billy  joined  Riley  at  the  window.  "  Looks  like 
Simon  Reelfoot.  It's  Simon's  horse,  anyway.  It  is 
Simon.  I  can  see  his  long  nose." 


148        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Riley  squinted  at  the  approaching  man.  "  I  wonder 
what  he  wants." 

"  I  thought  maybe  I'd  ask  him  when  he  comes  in," 
said  Billy. 

"  I  would,"  observed  Riley.  "  That'll  show  you're 
interested  in  your  job.  It'll  please  Simon,  too.  He'll 
think  you've  got  his  interests  at  heart.  After  that  shall 
I  kick  him  out,  or  will  you  let  Shotgun  bite  him?  " 

For  Simon  Reelfoot  was  not  well  thought  of  by  the 
more  decent  portion  of  the  community.  Men  that  put 
"money  out  at  high  interest  and  are  careless  of  their 
neighbors'  property  usually  aren't.  It  was  said  of  him 
that  he  still  had  the  first  nickel  that  he  ever  earned. 
Certainly  he  was  not  a  generous  person.  Three  women, 
at  one  time  and  another,  had  been  unlucky  enough  to 
marry  him.  Each  wife  died  within  two  years  of  her 
marriage  —  murdered  by  her  husband.  Not  in  such 
a  way,  however,  that  the  law  could  take  its  proper 
course  and  hang  Simon  by  the  neck  till  he  was  dead. 
The  murders  were  done  in  a  perfectly  legal  manner 
and  all  above-board  —  overwork  and  undernourish- 
ment. The  two  in  conjunction  will  kill  anything  that 
lives  and  breathes.  So  Simon,  if  not  a  murderer,  was 
at  least  an  accomplice  before  and  after  the  fact.  A 
cheerful  creature,  indeed.  There  were  no  children. 

Something  of  all  that  Simon  was  and  stood  for 
passed  through  Riley  Wingo's  mind  as  he  stood  with 
Riley  at  the  window. 

"  He  always  keeps  his  horses  in  good  condition," 
said  Billy. 

"  He  does  —  the  skunk!  "  acquiesced  Riley. 

"  Stop  calling  a  honest  citizen  names,"  directed  Shot- 


The  Trappers  149 

gun  Shillman.  "  Mr.  Reelfoot  is  an  upright  man.  I 
don't  believe  he'd  rob  a  child  or  steal  the  pennies  off 
a  dead  baby's  eyes.  I  don't  believe  he  would  —  if  any 
one  was  looking." 

Sirpon  Reelfoot  rode  up,  tied  his  horse  on  the  lee 
of  the  building  —  he  was  always  tender  of  his  stock  — 
and  entered. 

"  Howdy,"  he  said  glumly.     "  Cold  day." 

"  If  you'd  wear  something  besides  that  relic  of  the 
days  of  '61  you  wouldn't  find  it  such  a  cold  day,"  ob- 
served the  straightforward  Shotgun. 

At  which  allusion  to  his  ratty  old  blue  army  over- 
coat Simon's  upper  lip  lifted.  It  might  almost  be  said 
that  he  snarled  silently. 

"  Feller  as  poor  as  I  am  can't  afford  to  buy  buffalo 
coats,"  he  declared  in  the  grumbling  rumble  so  oddly 
at  variance  with  his  build.  For  he  was  a  little  clean- 
shaven man,  this  Simon  Reelfoot,  with  a  hatchet  face 
ai  d  the  watery  peering  eyes  of  the  habitual  drunkard. 

"  Yeah,"  he  grumbled,  staring  from  one  to  another 
of  the  three  officers  with  open  disapproval.  "  I  ain't 
got  money  to  buy  buffalo  coats.  I  have  to  work  to 
earn  my  living,  I  do.  I  ain't  got  time  to  sit  on  my 
hunkers  around  a  hot  stove  come-day-go-day  a-taking 
the  county's  money  for  doing  nothin'." 

"  Which  will  be  just  about  all  from  you,  Reelfoot," 
Billy  Wingo  suggested  sharply. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  scare  me,"  said  Simon,  shaking  a 
lowering  and  dogged  head.  "  I  say  what  I  think,  and 
if  folks  don't  like  it  they  know  what  they  can  do." 

"  Of  course,  Reelfoot,"  pursued  Billy,  with  his  most 
pleasant  smile,  "  folks  naturally  know  what  they  can 


150        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

do.  But  you  don't  guess  now  it  gives  a  feller  any 
pleasure  to  squash  every  spider,  caterpillar,  hoptoad 
or  snail  he  runs  across.  And —  But  I  don't  know 
that  I  ever  saw  any  snails  in  this  part  of  the  county. 
Suppose  now  we  hold  it  down  to  spiders,  caterpillars 
and  hoptoads.  Yeah.  Why  kill  'em?  Yeah  again. 
Why  put  the  kibosh  on  you,  Mr.  Reelfoot,  just  be- 
cause you  make  me  think  of  a  hoptoad?  You  may 
be  a  bad  old  man.  I  dunno  that  I  care.  But  I  don't 
like  your  company.  Not  a  bit.  You're  a  slimy  old 
devil,  and  you  never  wash.  Therefore  let's  hear  what 
your  business  is  so  you  can  take  it  away  with  you  in  a 
hurry." 

So  saying  Billy  sat  down,  cocked  his  feet  up  on  the 
table  and  regarded  Reelfoot  gravely.  Shillman  and 
Tyler  stood  before  the  fireplace,  their  legs  spread,  their 
hands  in  the  their  pockets  and  their  faces  expression- 
less. 

Simon  Reelfoot's  upper  lip  lifted  in  the  same  sound- 
less snarl. 

"  I'll  go  when  I  please,"  he  began,      and " 

"  You're  mistaken,"  contradicted  Billy,  taking  out 
his  watch  and  holding  it  open  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
"  Not  to  give  it  too  a  coarse  a  name,  you'll  go  when 
I  please.  Yep.  If  you  haven't  begun  to  state  your  offi- 
cial business  with  the  sheriff  within  forty-five  seconds, 
out  you  go,  Mr.  Reelfoot,  out  you  go." 

'  You  fellers  are  paid  to  see  that  the  law  is  obeyed," 
growled  Simon  Reelfoot.  "  You  can't  throw  me  out." 

1  'Round  and  'round  the  mulberry  bush,'  "  quoted 
Billy  Wingo.  u  Reverse.  Try  the  other  way  for  a 
change.  You're  getting  dizzy." 


The  Trappers  151 

"You  make  me  sick,  you  fellers.  Talk!  Talk! 
Talk!  That's  all  you  do.  Talk  alia  time.  All  right, 
I  will  see  if  you're  able  to  do  anything  besides  talk. 
Two  of  my  cows  have  been  shot  and  there's  two  or 
three  strangers  baching  it  in  that  old  shack  of  Cayler's 
on  Mule  Creek.  Cows  are  worth  thirty  dollars  per 
right  now,  and  I  want  you  to  find  out  if  them  fellers 
beefed  my  cattle." 

"  Been  over  there  yourself?  " 

"  Sure  I  have.  They  wouldn't  lemme  get  inside 
the  door.  Threw  down  on  me.  Bad  actors,  them  two 
lads." 

"  I  thought  you  said  there  were  three,"  said  Billy 
Wingo. 

"  Two  or  three,"  snappily. 

"  Suspicions  don't  count  for  much,"  said  Billy. 
"  You  know  that,  Reelfoot.  Have  you  any  evidence 
agrinst  these  men?" 

"  Sure  I  have,"  was  the  reply.  "  The  bodies  of  my 
two  cows  and  a  plain  track  of  blood  and  moccasins  to 
within  a  mile  of  the  cabin." 

"  Did  the  trail  stop  there  —  within  a  mile?  " 

"Feller  had  a  horse  tied.  He  packed  on  the  beef 
and  rode  himself.  I  trailed  the  horse  to  the  corral 
back  of  the  cabin." 

"  Were  you  alone?  " 

"  My  friend  Jack  Faber  was  with  me.  He  can  back 
up  everything  I  say." 

"And  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Reelfoot,  that  you 
trailed  this  beef  to  the  Cayler  cabin  and  then  allowed 
the  men  inside  to  get  the  drop  on  you  and  run  you  off  ?  " 

"They   threw  down  first,"    Reelfoot  insisted   sul- 


152        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

lenly.    u  They  got  the  drop.    What  could  we  do?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Billy  Wingo  dryly.  u  I 
wasn't  there." 

"  Perhaps,"  put  in  the  irrepressible  Riley  Tyler, 
"  the  parties  of  the  second  part  forgot  their  guns." 

"  A  gun  ain't  much  good  when  the  other  feller's  got 
the  drop,"  Simon  said  sourly. 

"  The  trick  is,"  observed  Billy,  his  manner  that  of 
one  stating  a  newly  discovered  fact,  "  the  trick  is, 
Reelfoot,  to  get  the  drop  first." 

Reelfoot  gaped  at  him.  Then  his  jaws  closed  with 
a  click.  But  they  reopened  immediately  in  violent 
speech.  "  What  about  my  cows?"  he  squalled. 
"What  you  gonna  do  about  them  cattle?  " 

"  We  can't  unscramble  any  eggs  for  you,  Reelfoot, 
not  being  magicians,  but  maybe  we  can  dump  the  rus- 
tlers for  you.  How  will  you  have  them  —  shot  or 
half-shot?  Now,  son,  you  shut  up,  close  your  trap, 
swallow  your  tongue  or  something.  Riley  Tyler  is  the 
only  one  allowed  to  swear  around  me.  Where  do  you 
want  to  cool  off  —  in  here  or  out  in  a  snowdrift?  " 

Simon  Reelfoot  subsided  into  a  chair.  He  produced 
a  plug  of  tobacco  from  one  capacious  bootleg,  a  clasp- 
knife  from  the  other,  snicked  open  the  claspknife  and 
haggled  off  a  generous  chew. 

Billy  nodded  approvingly.  "  That's  better.  Shot- 
gun and  I  will  be  with  you  in  two  minutes." 

Simon  Reelfoot  glared  out  of  the  window.  Billy 
Wingo,  whose  eyes,  for  all  their  casualness,  had  not 
strayed  from  Simon  for  a  minute,  had  not  overlooked 
the  pucker  of  worry  that  had  appeared  between  Simon's 
chin  and  straggly  eyebrows  at  the  mention  of  the  two 


The  Trappers  153 

minutes.  With  folk  like  Simon  it  is  always  well  to 
proceed  with  caution,  to  learn  the  real  reason,  not 
the  apparent  one  at  the  bottom  of  every  move.  Quite 
so.  Why  was  Simon  worried? 

Simon's  gaze  returned  from  the  world  without.  It 
skimmed  across  Billy  Wingo,  dodged  around  both  Shill- 
man  and  Tyler,  and  dropped  to  the  floor,  where  it 
fastened  upon  and  clung  to  the  nobbly  tips  of  the  Reel- 
foot  boots. 

"  I  don't  guess  there's  any  tearing  rush,"  he 
mumbled. 

Strangely  enough  or  rather  naturally  enough,  Billy 
experienced  no  surprise  at  the  remark.  "  No  hurry, 
huh?  "  he  observed.  "  A  minute  ago  you  were  in  a  hot 
sweat  to  have  us  do  something  right  away  quick,  And 
now  you  ain't.  What  has  changed  you,  Mr.  Reelfoot? 
I  ask  to  know." 

"  I  want  the  job  done  right,"  was  the  lame  explana- 
tion. "  If  you  hustle  off  too  sudden  you  might  forget 
something." 

"What  do  you  think  we're  liable  to  forget?" 
queried  Billy. 

"  How  do  I  know  what?  But  I  know  it  don't  pay 
to  go  off  half-cocked." 

Again  Simon  Reelfoot's  eyes  strayed  to  the  window. 
When  the  eyes  swiveled  back  to  meet  those  of  Billy 
Wingo,  the  pucker  of  worry  had  been  wiped  from 
Reelfoot's  eyebrows. 

"  No,"  he  resumed,  in  a  tone  that  was  unmistakably 
relieved,  "  it  don't  pay  to  go  off  half-cocked." 

"  No,  it  don't,"  concurred  Billy,  wondering  greatly, 
both  at  the  change  in  Simon's  expression  and  the  relief 


154        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

in  his  tone.  Why?  He  desired  to  know  why.  And  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  know  why.  For  among  his  other 
vices,  Simon  was  friendly  with  Rafe  Tuckleton  and  his 
precious  gang. 

Billy  Wingo,  shoving  cartridges  through  the  loading- 
gate  of  a  Winchester,  slouched  casually  past  the  win- 
dow through  which  Simon  was  looking.  He  perceived, 
kicking  his  way  through  the  snow,  Mr.  Tom  Driver, 
the  local  Justice  of  the  Peace.  There  was  no  one  else 
in  sight. 

"  Lordy,  how  the  snow  dazzles  your  eyes,"  re- 
marked Billy,  stepping  back  and  squinting.  "  Is  that 
Tom  Driver  coming  here?" 

u  Where?"  inquired  Simon  Reelfoot,  and  looked 
through  the  wrong  window.  Yet  when  Simon  had 
glanced  through  the  other  window  a  moment  before, 
he  must  have  seen  the  judge.  Hum-m !  Billy  Wingo 
continued  thoughtfully  to  shove  cartridges  through  the 
loading-gate. 

Entered  the  judge.  u  Good  morning,  gentlemen!  " 
was  the  judicial  greeting.  The  judicial  eyes  absorbed 
the  sheriff's  preparations.  "  You're  not  going  any- 
where, are  you,  Bill?"  he  inquired,  hooking  a  chair 
up  to  the  table  and  sitting  down  after  he  had  hung 
up  his  hat  and  coat  behind  the  door. 

"  Reelfoot's  had  two  cows  shot,"  explained  Billy. 
"  He  thinks  he  knows  who  did  it.  Shotgun  and  I  are 
going  to  see  about  it." 

u  Only  two  cows,"  said  the  judge.  "  Then  your 
presence  isn't  absolutely  necessary.  You  can  send 
Riley  Tyler  instead.  I  have  a  little  business  to  go 
over  with  you,  Bill  —  a  county  matter.  And " 


The  Trappers  155 

"  Is  it  important?" 

"  I  think  it  is." 

"  All  right.  Til  stay.  Riley,  I  guess  you'd  better 
go  with  Shotgun." 

It  was  pure  chance  that  enabled  Billy  to  catch  the 
gleam  of  satisfaction  in  Reelfoot's  eyes.  He  had  just 
happened  to  be  looking  at  the  man.  Satisfaction,  yes. 
Why?  Why  was  Simon  glad  chat  he,  Billy  Wingo, 
was  not  going  with  him  on  the  trail  of  the  beef-killers? 

When  Shotgun  and  Riley  were  gone  away  with  Reel- 
foot,  Billy  looked  across  at  the  judge  and  nodded. 

"  Fly  at  it,"  said  he. 

Without  haste  the  judge  fished  some  papers  from  his 
pocket  and  opened  them  on  the  table.  He  did  it 
awkwardly.  His  fingers  might  have  been  all  thumbs. 
He  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in  finding  the  paper  he 
wanted. 

Billy  Wingo,  his  eyes  drowsy-looking,  watched 
silently.  "  What's  it  all  about?"  he  asked  curiously. 

"  Jake  Kilroe,"  replied  Judge  Driver. "  "He's  been 
selling  liquor  to  the  Indians." 

"  He  always  has." 

"  I  know  he  has.  And  it's  a  disgrace  to  the  com- 
munity. It's  got  to  stop." 

Billy  stared  at  the  judge  even  more  curiously.  For 
this  high  and  moral  tone  he  did  not  understand  at  all. 
It  was  not  like  the  judge.  It  was  not  in  the  least  like 
the  judge.  No,  not  at  all. 

"  Stopping  liquor-selling  to  the  war-whoops  is  none 
of  my  job,"  pointed  out  Billy  Wingo,  "  the  man  you 
want  to  see  is  Henry  Black,  the  United  States  Marshal 


156        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

at  Hillsville.     Besides,  what  have  you  got  to  do  with 
it,  anyway?     You're  not  a  Federal  judge?  " 

"  But  the  Federal  authorities  have  ordered  me  to 
cooperate  with  them,"  the  judge  said  smoothly. 

u  Which  one  asked  you?  "  probed  Billy  Wingo. 

"  The  second  deputy." 

"  Slim  Chalmers,  huh?  When  did  you  see  Slim 
Chalmers?" 

"  Day  before  yesterday.1' 

"Here?" 

"  No,  over  at  Hillsville." 

u  I  didn't  know  you'd  been  out  of  town,"  Billy  Wingo 
burrowed  along. 

"  Just  got  back  this  morning." 

"  No  trouble  getting  through?" 

"  Not  a  bit.     This  chinook  has  thawed  the  drifts." 

"  Did  you  go  by  stage?  " 

"  No,  I  rode." 

The  judge  was  answering  these  apparently  most 
unnecessary  questions  without  a  quiver  or  trace  of  an- 
noyance. Billy  made  another  cast. 

u  Did  you  ride  your  gray  horse?  " 

"  No,  the  black." 

"  I  hope  you  wore  a  coat."  The  gravity  of  Billy's 
tone  could  not  have  been  bettered. 

"An  overcoat?"  smiled  Judge  Driver.  "Nat- 
urally." 

4  That's  good,  that's  good.  I  like  to  see  you  looking 
after  your  health  thisaway.  You'd  be  a  valuable  citi- 
zen to  lose,  Judge.  I  dunno  what  we'd  do  without 
you.  I  don't  indeed." 

What  had  gone  before  had  been  bad  enough  in  all 


The  Trappers  157 

conscience.  But  this  was  even  worse.  Yet  the  judge 
took  no  offense.  He  merely  smiled  blandly  upon  Billy 
Wingo  and  proffered  the  latter  gentleman  his  cigar 
case.  Billy  declined  with  thanks.  Whereupon  the 
judge  drew  a  long  and  very  black  cigar  from  the  case 
and  bit  off  the  end. 

"  It's  funny  I  didn't  meet  you  in  Hillsville,"  mused 
Billy,  turning  his  head  as  if  to  look  at  the  stove  but 
in  reality  looking  at  a  mirror  hanging  on  the  wall  beside 
the  stove  that  showed  on  its  face  an  excellent  reflection 
of  Judge  Driver's  features. 

As  he  expected,  the  judge  gave  him  a  quick  sharp 
glance,  but  what  he  had  not  expected  was  the  demoniac 
expression  of  hatred  that  flashed  across  the  judge's 
face  as  summer  lightning  flashes  across  the  face  of  a 
dark  cloud. 

Eilly  Wingo  turned  a  slow  head.  His  eyes  met  those 
of  the  judge  squarely.  Gone  was  the  expression  of 
hatred.  In  its  place  was  one  of  courteous  regret,  — 
regret  that  he  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  miss  his 
friend  Sheriff  Wingo  in  Hillsville. 

Billy  nodded  indifferently.  "  That's  all  right.  I 
wasn't  in  Hillsville.  My  mistake.  Sorry." 

The  judge  stared  in  frowning  puzzlement. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  door  opened  and 
Skinny  Shindle  entered.  He  greeted  the  two  men  surl- 
ily and  laid  a  note  on  the  desk  in  front  of  Billy. 

"  I  stopped  at  Walton's  on  my  way  back  from  Hills- 
ville," said  Shindle,  "  and  Tom'$  niece  gimme  this. 
She  said  I  was  to  be  sure  and  give  it  to  you  soon  as 
I  could.  Seemed  worried  like,  I  should  say." 


158        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  When  did  she  give  you  the  note,"  Billy  inquired 
casually. 

"  When  I  stopped  there  for  a  drink.  I  was  only 
there  about  five  minutes." 

14  When  was  that?" 

"  Oh,  round  half-past  two." 

"  And  you  came  straight  here  ?  " 

"  Sure  I  did.  You  don't  think  I  was  gonna  stop  any- 
where a  day  like  this,  do  you?  " 

Without  another  word  Shindle  pulled  his  fur  cap 
forward,  turned  and  walked  out.  He  closed  the  door 
with  a  slam  that  shook  the  building.  Billy  Wingo 
opened  the  note. 

DEAR  BILLY: 

Please  come  out  here  as  soon  as  you  can.     Come  to- 
night without  fail.    I  need  you. 

It  was  signed  with  Hazel  Walton's  full  name. 

Billy  folded  the  note  carefully.  He  did  not  look 
directly  at  the  judge.  He  looked  at  him  by  way  of  the 
mirror.  He  was  not  unduly  astonished  to  perceive  that 
the  judge  was  watching  him  like  the  proverbial  hawk. 

Billy  unfolded  the  note,  read  it  again,  then  refolded 
it.  He  started  to  put  it  into  a  vest  pocket,  though  bet- 
ter of  it,  balled  it  into  a  crumple  and  tossed  it  into 
the  cardboard  box  that  served  for  a  waste-paper  basket. 

He  got  to  his  feet,  pulled  out  his  watch  and  glanced 
at  the  time. 

"  Four-thirty-two,"  he  muttered,  apparently  obli- 
vious to  the  judge's  presence.  "  I'll  have  to  hurry." 

He  crossed  the  room  to  an  open  door  giving  into 
one  of  the  inner  rooms.  Passing  through  the  door- 


The  Trappers  159 

way,  he  pushed  the  door  partly  to  behind  him.  Turn- 
ing sharply  to  the  left  he  sat  down  on  a  cot  that 
creaked.  The  foot  of  the  cot  butted  against  the  jamb 
on  which  the  door  was  hung.  Billy  threw  himself 
sidewise  and  applied  his  eye  to  the  crack  between  the 
door  and  the  jamb.  His  feet  at  the  end  of  the  cot 
were  busy  the  while,  gently  kicking  the  wall  and  iron- 
work of  the  cot.  Any  one  hearing  the  noise  would 
have  been  reasonably  assured  that  Billy  Wingo  was 
employed  in  God  knows  what,  at  a  distance  from  the 
door  of  at  least  a  cot  length.  What  he  might  be 
doing  did  not  matter.  The  point  was  to  give  the 
judge  the  impression  that  he  was  not  close  to  the 
doorway. 

Evidently  the  judge  was  thus  impressed.  Billy  saw 
him  lean  forward,  pluck  the  wadded-up  note  from  the 
wastebasket  and  dive  noiselessly  across  the  room  to  the 
stove.  Without  a  sound  the  judge  opened  the  stove 
door  and  dropped  the  letter  on  the  top  of  the  blazing 
wood.  Closing  the  door  as  noiselessly  as  he  had  opened 
it,  the  judge  returned  to  his  chair,  sat  down  and  crossed 
one  knee  over  the  other.  His  expression  was  that 
of  the  cat  that  has  just  eaten  the  canary.  Billy  could 
almost  see  him  licking  his  demure  chops. 

Billy  returned  to  the  office.  He  was  carrying  a 
box  of  cartridges  and  an  extra  six-shooter.  His  reg- 
ular six-shooter,  with  its  holster  and  belt,  hung  on  the 
wall  behind  the  table. 

"•About  Jake  Kilroe  now,"  said  Billy,  sitting  down 
at  the  table  and  snicking  open  the  box  of  cartridges, 
"  about  Jake  Kilroe  —  what  does  the  marshal  want  me 
to  do?" 


i6o        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

u  Get  evidence  against  him,"  was  the  smooth  reply. 
"  Enough  to  convict  him,  of  course." 

"  Of  course.  Not  enough  to  convict  him  would  help 
us  very  little.  Yeah.  Any  suggestions,  Judge?  " 

"  What  kind  of  suggestions?"  the  judge  inquired 
with  just  a  trace  of  impatience. 

"  How  I'm  to  start  in  —  what  do  you  guess?  I 
don't  know  much  about  Jake,  y'understand.  For  in- 
stance, where  does  Jake  get  his  liquor  in  the  first 
place?" 

"  How  should  I  know?" 

"  I  dunno.  Thought  maybe  you  might.  Judges  are 
supposed  to  know  a  lot.  But  if  you  don't,  you  don't, 
that's  all." 

Judge  Driver  sat  up  a  trifle  straighter  in  his  chair. 
He  looked  at  Billy  with  some  suspicion.  It  could  not 
be  humanly  possible  that  Billy  was  joking  with  him, 
yet 

u  I  guess  I'd  better  start  in  this  afternoon,"  con- 
tinued Billy  briskly.  u  There's  nothing  like  a  quick 
start.  And  the  marshal  would  like  it  too.  Suppose 
you  and  I,  Judge,  go  down  to  Jake's  and  see  what  we 
can  see." 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  somewhere  else,"  de- 
murred Judge  Driver. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?  " 
4  That  note  —     You  said  you  had  to  go  some  place 
in  a  hurry." 

"  Did  I?  Well,  I  am.  I'm  going  down  to  Jake 
Kilroe's,  and  you're  going  with  me,  huh?" 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  judge,  the  light  of  despera- 
tion in  his  eyes,  "  you  don't  have  to  go  down  to  Kil- 


The  Trappers  161 

roe's  now.  That  can  wait.  The  marshal  ain't  in  such 
a  fright  of  a  hurry  as  all  that.  Go  on  and  do  what- 
ever you  have  to  do.  I  didn't  mean  —  I  don't  want 
this  to  interfere  with  your  personal  business,  and  I'm 
sure  the  marshal  wouldn't.  He'll  understand.  I  know 
he  will.  You  go  on  and  do  whatever  you  have  to  do 
Bill." 

"  I  will,"  murmured  Billy.  "  I  will.  Where  are 
you  going,  Judge?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guess  I'll  be  drifting  along,  Bill,"  smiled 
the  judge,  half-turning  on  his  way  to  the  door.  "  You 
don't  need  me  any  longer." 

"  Yes,  I  do  too,"  Billy  declared  fretfully.  "  You 
come  on  back  and  set  down.  I've  got  something  here 
I  want  to  read  you." 

Involuntarily  the  judge's  eyes  strayed  to  the  waste- 
basket.  He  came  back  and  sat  down. 

On  the  table  between  the  extra  six-shooter  that  Billy 
had  finished  loading  and  the  box  of  cartridges  was  a 
small  leather-bound  book.  Billy  picked  up  this  book 
and  turned  to  the  index.  He  ran  his  finger  down  the 
page  till  he  came  to  that  which  he  sought. 

"  'Morality,  rules  of,  where  consonant  with  those 
of  law,'  "  he  read  aloud,  and  turned  back  to  page 
twenty-eight. 

Judge  Driver  stared  at  Billy  Wingo  in  some  amaze- 
ment. What  on  earth  was  the  sheriff  driving  at.  Rules 
of  morality?  Well! 

"  This  book,"  said  Billy,  glancing  across  at  the 
judge,  "  is  a  copy  of  the  grounds  and  maxims  of  the 
English  laws,  by  William  Noy,  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  At- 


162        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

torney  General,  and  a  member  of  the  Privy  Council 
to  King  Charles  the  First." 

41  What  in  God's  name,"  demanded  the  now  thor- 
oughly amazed  judge,  u  has  that  to  do  with  me?  " 

u  I  want  to  read  you  something,"  persisted  Billy. 
"  You  know  that  our  laws  were  practically  taken  from 
the  English  laws.  Our  grounds  and  maxims  are  the 
same  as  theirs.  What's  good  law  with  them  is  good 
law  with  us,  and  vice  versa.  You're  a  judge.  You 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Don't  you?" 

The  judge  nodded.     "  I  suppose  so." 

"  It  says  here,"  resumed  Billy  Wingo,  "  in  section 
thirty-three  under  Moral  Rules,  that  the  '  law  f avoreth 
works  of  charity,  right  and  truth,  and  abhorreth  fraud, 
covin,  and  incertainties  which  obscure  the  truth;  con- 
trarities,  delays,  unnecessary  circumstances,  and  such 
like.  Deceit  and  fraud  should  be  remedied  on  all 
occasions.'  How  about  it?  Don't  you  agree  with 
Mr.  William  Noy?" 

"  He's  right;  but  there's  nothing  new  about  it.  I 
knew  it  already." 

"  Then  you'll  understand  me,  perhaps,  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  intend  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  everything 
that  has  gone  on  here  this  afternoon." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  there  has  been  more  '  fraud,  covin, 
and  incertainties  which  obscure  the  truth  '  scattered 
round  in  this  room  to-day  than  by  right  there  should 
have  been.  I  don't  mind  a  little.  Human  beings  are 
odd  numbers,  anyway,  You've  got  to  take  all  that  into 
consideration." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 


The  Trappers  163 

"  Then,  too,"  pursued  the  unheeding  Billy,  "  'con- 
trarities,  delays,  unnecessary  circumstances,  and  such 
like/  I  despise.  They  give  me  a  bad  taste  in  my 
mouth.  Don't  they  you?  " 

"  They  would  any  one,"  acquiesced  the  judge,  and 
made  to  rise.  "  Well,  now  you've  read  me  what  you 
wanted  to,  I  won't  keep  you  any  longer.  I  know  you 
must  be  in  a  hurry  to  get  away.  We'll  let  the  Kilroe 
business  wait  over  a  few  days." 

"  Sit  down,  Judge,"  Billy  Wingo  murmured  softly, 
his  hand  resting  as  if  by  chance  on  the  butt  of  the  six- 
shooter  lying  on  the  table.  "  Sit  down,  do." 

The  judge  hesitated.  Then  with  the  well-known 
hollow  laugh,  he  sat  down.  He  looked  at  Billy  Wingo. 
The  latter  looked  at  him.  in  silence  for  a  space. 

"  Judge,"  he  remarked  suddenly,  "  deceit  and  fraud 
should  K  remedied  on  all  occasions.  Tell  me  why  you 
put  that  letter  in  the  fire?  " 

The  judge  continued  to  sit  perfectly  still.  It  might 
be  said  that  he  was  frozen  to  his  chair.  Then  slowly, 
almost  imperceptibly,  his  right  hand  began  to  steal 
upward  under  the  tail  of  his  coat. 

"I  wouldn't,  Judge,"  continued  Billy,  "I  just 
wouldn't  if  I  were  you." 

The  judge's  hand  hung  straight  by  his  side.  "  You're 
getting  in  pretty  deep,  Bill,"  he  observed  with  a  cold 
smile. 

"But  not  as  deep  as  you  are  already,"  said  Billy 
Wingo,  with  an  £ven  colder  smile.  '  You  haven't 
answered  my  question  yet  —  about  the  burning  of  the 
letter.  Why,  Judge,  why?" 

"  Give   it   any  name  you  like,"   replied  the  jurist 


164        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

carelessly.  "  I  dont  feel  like  answering  any  more 
questions. " 

"  Yet  a  li'l  while  back  you  didn't  mind  answering 
any  questions  I  felt  like  asking.  Was  it  to  gain  time, 
Judge  —  to  gain  time  till  Skinny  Shindle  came  in  and 
did  his  part  with  the  note  from  Miss  Walton?  Was 
it,  Judge,  was  it?  Dumb,  huh?  Aw  right,  perhaps 
you'd  rather  tell  me  why  Simon  Reelfoot  acted  about 
the  same  way,  except  Simon  was  special  careful  to 
make  us  mad  besides  —  mad  when  it  wasn't  necessary 
to  make  us  mad  if  Simon  was  playing  a  straight  game, 
but  necessary  enough  if  Simon  wanted  to  gain  more 
time.  Yeah,  Simon  sure  beat  around  the  bush  time 
and  again  before  he  came  to  the  point.  I  expect  you 
were  delayed  getting  here,  huh,  Judge?  Simon  kept 
looking  out  of  the  window  alia  time,  I  remember." 

Billy  Wingo  felt  silent  and  contemplated  the  judge. 
The  latter  stared  back,  his  face  impassive. 

"  Be  advised,"  said  the  judge  suddenly.  "  You  can't 
buck  us  alone.  You  shoiud  know  that." 

"  I  should  —  maybe,"  returned  Billy  Wingo.  "  But 
I  feel  like  taking  a  gamble  with  you.  So  instead  of. 
going  to  Kilroe's>  we'll  do  what  the  letter  said  and 
go  out  to  Walton's  to-day." 

The  judge  lifted  his  eyebrows.     "We?" 

;t  We,"  confirmed  Billy  calmly.  "  You're  going 
with  me." 

"  No,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Yes,"  insisted  Billy  Wingo.  "  And  what's  more, 
I'll  lend  you  a  suit  of  my  clothes  and  my  white  hat 
and  my  red-and-white  pinto.  Which  there  ain't  an- 
other paint  pony  colored  like  mine  in  this  county; 


The  Trappers  165 

and  just  to  make  it  a  fair  deal,  I'll  wear  your  buffalo 
coat  and  your  fur  cap,  and  I'll  ride  one  of  your  horses, 

—  that  long-legged  gray,  I  guess,  will  be  all  right." 
The  judge's  face  wore  a  curiously  mottled  pallor 

that  gave  it  the  hue  of  a  dead  fish's  belly.     "  Are  you 
insane?"  he  gasped. 

"  Not  me,"  denied  Billy  Wingo.  "  It's  like  I  said. 
I'm  gambling  with  you.  I  guess  we  understand  each 
other,  Judge.  Ain't  it  luck,  you  and  I  being  about  of  a 
size?  Dressed  up  in  my  clothes  with  that  white  hat 
and  all,  you'd  have  to  excuse  anybody  for  mistaking 
you  for  me.  Ca-a-areful,  Judge,  careful.  Don't  do 
anything  we  would  be  sorry  for.  And  don't  take  it 
so  to  heart;  perhaps  he'll  miss  you." 

For  a  space  he  considered  the  judge,  then  he  said: 

"  I  guess  we're  ready  for  Riley,  now." 

Despite    his    professional    calm    the    judge    almost 

bounced  out  of  his  chair.     "  Riley!    Where " 

"  In  the  kitchen  with  the  door  open,"  explained 
Billy.  "  He  didn't  go  with  Shotgun  and  Reelfoot  a-tall 

—  that  is,  not  far.     Only  round  the  house  to  the  back 
door.     Reelfoot  wasn't  completely  successful  in  sep- 
arating me  from  my  deputies.     You  didn't  catch  me 
whispering  in  Riley's  ear  while  he  was  getting  ready, 
did  you?     I  thought  maybe  you  wouldn't.     Your  back 
was   turned.      Moral:    Never  turn  your  back  when 
there's  a  mirror  behind  you.    Riley,  you'd  better  come 


in  now." 


Whereupon  there  was  a  noise  of  bootheels,  and  Riley 
entered  and  smiled  cheerfully  upon  the  discomfited 
judge. 

"  Howdy,  your  honor,"  said  Riley  Tyler. 


166        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

The  judge  made  no  acknowledgment  of  the  greet- 
ing. He  continued  to  gaze  before  him  with  a  set  and 
stony  face. 

"  Riley,"  said  Billy  Wingo,  without,  however,  re- 
moving his  eyes  from  the  judge,  "  I  guess  we'll  need 
another  witness.  I  wonder  if  you  could  get  hold  of 
Guerilla  Melody." 

Riley  nodded  and  went  out. 

"  And  that's  that,"  said  Billy  Wingo,  smiling. 

The  judge's  hands  gripped  the  arms  of  the  chair. 
"  You  know  that  the  man  Melody  is  an  enemy  of 
mine,"  he  said  in  a  shaken  voice. 

"  I  know  that  he  is  an  honest  man,"  returned  Billy 
Wingo. 

"  I  won't  go,"  the  judge  declared  feebly. 

"  You  said  that  before,"  said  Billy  Wingo,  in  no 
wise  moved.  '  You'll  go  all  right.  Yes,  indeedy. 
Do  you  wanna  know  why?  I'll  tell  you.  You  see, 
Judge,  I  know  what  I'm  up  against  I  know  that  the 
only  barrier  that  stands  between  me  and  the  grave- 
yard is  the  lead  in  this  gun.  I  like  life.  I  enjoy  it. 
Besides,  I'm  too  young  to  die  and  too  sinful  and  all 
that.  Therefore  it's  my  business  to  see  I  ain't  cut  off 
in  the  flower  of  my  youth,  et  cetera.  You're  consid- 
erably older  than  me,  Judge,  considerably.  The  gray 
is  in  your  hair  like  frost  on  a  punkin,  and  the  devil  has 
drawn  two  mighty  mean  lines  down  from  your  nose 
to  the  corners  of  your  mouth,  and  the  crows  have 
messed  up  your  eye-corners  too,  for  that  matter,  and 
may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  your  soul,  you  miserable 
sinner,  because  I  won't  —  if  you  don't  do  exactly  what 


The  Trappers  167 

I  tell  you  to  do.  It's  my  life  or  yours,  and  it's  not 
gonna  be  mine." 

"  Baby  talk,"  said  the  judge,  but  there  was  no  con- 
viction in  his  tone. 

"  You  think  so  ?  Aw  right,  let  it  go  at  that.  Here's 
the  rest  of  the  baby  talk:  The  first  false  move  you 
start  to  make  between  now  and  the  time  I'm  through 
with  you,  you  get  it." 

"  You  wouldn't  dare !" 

"Wouldn't  I?  Call  me  and  see.  No  trouble  to 
show  goods." 

The  judge  hesitated.  It  was  obvious  that  he  was 
of  two  minds.  He  chose  the  safer  course  —  for  the 
present. 

"  There  is  a  law  in  this  country  —  "  he  began. 

Billy  Wingo  leaned  forward,  his  chin  jutting  out. 
His  eyes  were  unpleasantly  cold.  They  matched  his 
voice  when  he  spoke. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  the  law,"  he  said.  ult's  you 
and  your  friends  that  have  made  the  law  in  Crocker 
County  a  spectacle  for  decent  men.  Law!  You've 
dragged  the  statutes  in  the  mud  till  you  can't  tell  'em 
apart  from  the  turnips  underground.  Law!  You've 
prostituted  your  office  for  a  little  filthy  money  here, 
there  and  everywhere,  till  it's  a  wonder  you're  able 
to  live  with  yourself.  How  do  you  do  it?  Don't 
you  ever  get  tired  of  your  own  stink,  you  polecat?" 

This  was  too  much.  The  judge  was,  after  all,  a 
human  being.  He  had  his  pride,  such  as  it  was,  and 
courage  of  a  kind.  He  threw  himself  sidewise,  and  at 
the  same  time  his  right  hand  flipped  up  under  his 
coat  tail,  flipped  up  and  flipped  out. 


168        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

There  was  a  flash  and  a  roar  and  a  spirtle  of  smoke. 
The  judge's  six-shooter  was  wrenched  from  his  fingers 
and  sent  spinning  across  the  room.  The  judge  re- 
mained upon  the  floor.  There  was  no  feeling  in  his 
right  hand.  But  his  right  arm  felt  as  if  it  had  been 
struck  with  a  spike-maul. 

The  acrid  smoke  rose  slowly  toward  the  ceiling. 

"  You  can  get  up,  Judge, "  Billy  Wingo  said  calmly. 

The  judge  rose  slowly  and  collapsed  into  the  chair 
he  had  so  abruptly  vacated.  He  held  his  right  hand  be- 
fore his  face  and  waggled  it.  Stupidly  he  looked  at 
it.  The  flesh  of  the  trigger  finger  was  slightly  torn. 
It  bled  a  little. 

"  The  bullet  didn't  touch  you,"  said  Billy.  "  The 
trigger  guard  did  that  when  the  gun  was  twiddled  out 
of  your  hand.  The  lead  hit  the  frame  in  front  of  the 
cylinder.  Wait,  I'll  show  you."  He  crossed  the  room 
to  where  the  judge's  six-shooter  lay,  picked  it  up  and 
brought  it  to  the  judge  for  his  inspection. 

"  See  how  I  trust  you,"  said  Billy  sardonically,  hold- 
ing up  the  judge's  six-shooter  within  ten  inches  of  the 
judge's  eyes.  "  You  could  almost  grab  this  gun  out 
of  my  hand  if  you  felt  like  it.  I  really  dunno  but 
what  I  hope  you'll  feel  like  it." 

But  the  judge  did  not  feel  like  it.  He  perceived 
without  difficulty  the  gray  splotch  on  the  frame  of  the 
six-shooter  that  marked  the  spot  where  Billy  Wingo's 
lead  had  struck,  and  he  felt  absolutely  no  inclination 
to  gamble  further  with  fate.  Not  he.  No  ! 

Billy  tucked  the  judge's  six-shooter  into  his  waist- 
band and  ran  a  hand  over  and  under  the  jurist's  outer 
clothing. 


The  Trappers  169 

"  You  might  be  carrying  a  derringer  or  something," 
he  murmured  in  apology. 

But  he  found  no  other  weapon,  and  he  returned  to 
his  seat  to  await  the  arrival  of  Riley  Tyler  and 
Guerilla  Melody. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

THE   TRAP 

GUERILLA  MELODY  regarded  the  judge  without  ex- 
pression. "  Huh,"  he  grunted.  "  Huh." 

The  judge  did  not  look  at  him.  He  had  cheated 
Melody  in  a  cattle  deal  the  previous  year  and  had 
since  found  himself  unable  to  look  Melody  in  the  eye. 
Some  villains  are  like  that.  They  are  usually  of  the 
cheaper  variety. 

"  It's  good  and  dark  now,"  observed  Billy  Wingo, 
"  and  the  moon  will  rise  in  another  hour.  We  don't 
want  it  to  be  too  high  when  we  strike  the  Walton  ranch. 
Why  the  smile,  Judge  ?  Oh,  I  know.  You  think  we'll 
be  seen  by  one  of  your  friends  when  we're  leaving,  and 
he'll  get  to  the  ranch  ahead  of  us.  I  doubt  it,  Judge. 
You  know  we  ain't  going  by  way  of  Main  Street.  No, 
we're  going  out  back  of  the  corral.  The  cotton- 
woods  grow  right  up  close  to  the  back  of  the  corral, 
and  if  we  lead  our  horses  and  hug  the  posts,  there  ain't 
much  chance  of  anybody  seeing  us.  No.  Come  along, 
Judge,  lessee  how  my  clothes  fit  you." 

Within  the  quarter-hour  they  rode  out  of  a  belt  of 
cottonwoods  into  the  Hillsville  trail,  three  wooden- 
faced  men  and  the  wretched  judge.  The  latter  rode 
in  front,  with  head  bowed  on  hunched  shoulders. 

Where  the  snow  permitted  they  trotted,  but  most 


The  Trap  171 

of  the  time  they  were  forced  to  walk  their  horses.  Four 
times  before  they  reached  the  draw  leading  to  the 
Walton  ranch  they  floundered  through  drifts  that 
powdered  the  horse's  shoulders. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  draw  the  trail  to  Walton's 
was  clotted  with  the  tracks  of  a  few  ridden  horses. 

"I  guess,"  remarked  Billy  Wingo,  "  that  Skinny 
Shindle  came  this  way  all  right  when  he  brought  that 
note  from  Walton's." 

The  judge  shivered,  but  not  with  cold.  He  was 
very  miserable  and  looked  it. 

The  moon  lifted  an  inquiring  face  over  the  rim  of 
the  neighboring  ridge  and  threw  their  shadows,  thin 
and  long,  across  the  green-white  snow. 

"  We  turn  here  toward  Walton's  Judge,"  suggested 
Billy,  when  the  jurist  continued  to  ride  straight  ahead. 

The  judge  pulled  up. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  Walton's !  "  he  cried  aloud.  "  I'm 
not  going,  I  tell  you!  You  can't  make  me!  You 
can't." 

His  voice  broke  at  the  last  word.  He  threw  his 
arms  aloft  in  a  wild  gesture.  The  features  of  the  face 
he  turned  toward  Billy  were  contorted  with  emotion. 
He  gibbered  and  mowed  at  them  in  the  moon-light. 
He  looked  like  an  inmate  of  Bedlam.  He  was  cer- 
tainly in  a  bad  way,  was  Judge  Driver. 

Suddenly  he  lost  his  head.  He  clapped  heels  to  his 
horse's  flanks  in  an  effort  to  escape.  But  both  Billy 
Wingo  and  Riley  Tyler  had  been  waiting  for  precisely 
such  a  move  ever  since  leaving  Golden  Bar.  Two 
ropes  shot  out  simultaneously.  One  fastened  on  the 
red-and-white  pinto's  neck,  the  other  settled  round  the 


172        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Judge's  shoulders.  The  paint  pony  stopped  abruptly. 
The  judge  flew  backward  from  the  saddle  and  hit  the 
snow  on  the  back  of  his  neck. 

The  three  friends  dismounted  and  gathered  around 
the  judge.  Riley  loosened  his  rope.  The  judge  lay 
still  and  gasped  and  crowed.  The  wind  had  been  con- 
siderably knocked  out  of  him.  When  he  sat  up,  he 
was  promptly  sick,  very  sick.  The  paroxysm  shook 
him  from  head  to  heels. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  was  able  to  stand  on 
his  feet  without  support.  The  three  boosted  him  into 
the  saddle,  mounted  their  own  horses  and  proceeded 
along  the  draw. 

Whenever  the  judge  made  as  if  to  check  his  horse, 
which  he  did  more  than  once,  Billy  Wingo  would  crowd 
his  horse  forward  and  kick  the  pinto.  Their  progress 
may  be  said  to  have  been  fairly  regular. 

A  mile  from  the  ranch  house  they  climbed  the  shelv- 
ing side  of  the  draw  and  rode  across  the  flat  to  where 
a  straggling  growth  of  pine  and  spruce  made  a  black, 
pear-shaped  blot  along  the  smooth  white  slope  of  a 
saddle-backed  hill.  The  tail  of  this  evergreen  planta- 
tion ran  out  across  the  flat  from  the  base  of  the  hill 
almost  to  the  edge  of  the  draw  they  had  just  quitted. 
A  tall  spruce,  towering  high  above  his  fellows,  formed 
the  tip,  as  it  were,  of  the  stem  of  the  pear. 

Beyond  and  below  this  spruce,  where  the  draw  met 
lower  ground  and  lost  its  identity  as  a  draw,  was  the 
Walton  ranch  house.  On  the  flat  the  evergreens  barred 
the  four  riders  from  the  eyes  of  any  one  watching 
from  the  house. 

The  four  men  reached  the  trees,  rode  in  among 


The  Trap  173 

them.  Three  of  them  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses. 
The  fourth  remained  in  the  saddle.  Said  Billy  Wingo 
to  the  fourth: 

"  Get  down." 

The  judge  got  down.  Swiftly  his  hands  were  tied 
behind  his  back,  and  his  eyes  were  thoroughly  blind- 
folded with  his  own  silk  handkerchief. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Billy,  lowering  his  voice,  "  I 
guess  we  know  what  to  do.  You,  Judge,  won't  have 
to  say  anything,  but  if  anybody  else  thinks  he  has  to 
say  anything,  he's  got  to  do  it  in  a  whisper,  and  a 
skinny  whisper  at  that.  Let's  go." 

As  Billy  uttered  the  last  low  words  Guerilla  Melody 
seized  the  judge's  right  arm  and  forced  him  into  mo- 
tion. With  Riley  Tyler  leading  the  judge's  mount, 
the  three  men  scuffled  in  among  the  trees  on  the  back 
trail. 

Billy  Wingo  stood  silently  in  his  tracks  until  the  trio 
were  out  of  earshot,  then  he  padded  to  the  spruce  and 
halted  behind  it.  He  removed  his  overcoat.  From  a 
voluminous  pocket  he  took  what  appeared  to  be  a  roll 
of  cloth.  He  shook  out  the  roll  and  discovered  the 
common  or  garden  variety  of  cotton  nightshirt,  size 
fifty. 

"  If  whoever's  in  the  house  can  pick  me  out  from  the 
snow  after  I'm  wearing  this,  I'll  give  his  eyes  credit," 
he  muttered,  pulling  on  the  garment  in  question  over 
his  head. 

He  buttoned  the  nightshirt  with  meticulous  care, 
fished  a  washed  flour  sack  from  a  hip  pocket  and  pulled 
it  over  his  head.  A  minute  or  two  later  he  was  joined 
by  Riley  Tyler. 


174        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  If  I  didn't  know  it  was  you,"  whispered  Riley  in  a 
delighted  hiss,  "  I'd  be  scared  out  of  a  year's  growth. 
Those  eyeholes  are  plumb  gashly." 

"  I  expect,"  said  Billy  grimly.  "  Get  on  your  outfit. 
I  guess  you  ain't  needed,  but  we  can't  afford  to  take  any 
chances." 

Riley  Tyler  threw  off  his  blanket  capote,  dragged 
from  an  inner  pocket  a  disguise  similar  to  the  sheriff's 
and  hurriedly  put  it  on. 

"  Don't  come  till  you  see  the  signal,"  cautioned  Billy, 
"  and  if  you  hear  any  shots  before  I  give  the  signal, 
stay  right  here  where  the  cover's  good  and  drop  any- 
body you  see  running  away.  Y'understand?  " 

11  You  bet." 

"  Judge  swallow  it  all  right?  " 

"  Down  to  the  pole.  He  thinks  we're  all  three  with 
him." 

Billy  nodded.  "  Better  move  along  the  draw  about 
twenty  yards,"  was  his  parting  order.  "  You  can't 
see  the  side  the  cedars  are  on  from  here." 

Boldly,  without  any  attempt  at  concealment,  he 
walked  straight  to  the  edge  of  the  draw.  Below  him 
barely  fifty  yards  distant  were  the  snow-covered  build- 
ings that  were  the  Walton  ranch  house,  the  bunk  house 
and  the  blacksmith  shop.  He  could  not  see  the  corrals. 
They  lay  beyond  the  crowding  cottonwoods  growing 
beside  the  little  stream  that  supplied  the  ranch  house 
with  water. 

He  half  slid,  half  walked  down  the  side  of  the  draw 
and  headed  straight  for  the  ranch  house.  He  could 
not  see  lamplight  shining  through  any  of  the  windows. 
But  there  was  a  faint  glow  at  the  farthest  of  the 


The  Trap  175 

windows  in  the  side  of  the  house.  This  window  he 
knew  was  one  of  three  lighting  the  front  room,  a  room 
that  ran  clear  across  the  house.  This  side  of  the 
house  was  clear  of  young  trees  and  bushes.  But  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house,  the  north  side,  Hazel  had 
planted  young  cedars  to  serve  as  a  windbreak.  These 
cedars  grew  within  a  yard  of  the  house. 

Without  any  fear  of  being  discovered,  so  confident 
was  he  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  see  him  against 
the  white  background,  he  approached  the  blacksmith 
shop,  slid  between  it  and  the  empty  bunk  house  and 
came  to  the  right  angle  end  of  the  kitchen.  His  gun 
was  out,  be  it  known,  but  he  held  it  behind  his  back. 
He  wanted  no  touch  of  blackness  to  mar  the  hue  of 
his  costume. 

At  the  corner  of  the  kitchen  he  dropped  on  his  knees 
and  one  hand.  Here  behind  the  windbreak  the  snow 
was  no  more  than  two  or  three  inches  deep,  and  he 
crawled  along  the  side  of  the  house  toward  the  faintly 
glowing  window  that  was  his  goal,  at  walking  speed. 

Crouched  beneath  the  window  he  laid  his  ear  close 
to  the  window  sill  and  listened.  For  a  space  he  heard 
nothing,  then  feet  shuffled  across  the  floor  and  there 
was  the  "  chuck  "  of  a  log  being  thrown  on  the  fire. 
Then  the  shuffle  of  feet  again. 

Silence. 

Inch  by  inch  Billy  raised  a  slow  head  above  the 
window  sill.  When  his  eyes  were  level  with  the  lower 
crosspiece  of  the  sash,  he  paused.  For  a  long  time  he 
could  see  nothing  within  the  room  but  the  fire  in  the 
ruddy  jaws  of  the  fireplace  with  its  attendant  pile  of 
logs,  and  a  big  chair  over  which  had  been  thrown  a 


176        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

buffalo  robe.  Then  after  a  time  he  saw,  beyond  the 
chair,  the  boot  soles  of  a  man  lying  on  the  floor.  The 
body  of  the  man  lay  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  big 
chair. 

There  was  something  about  those  boot  soles  that 
told  Billy  that  the  man  was  dead. 

"  I  figured  it  would  be  this  way,"  Billy  told  himself. 
"  I  didn't  see  how  else  it  could  be.  Damn  their  souls ! 
They  don't  stop  at  anything!  " 

He  continued  to  stare  unblinkingly  into  the  room  and 
after  a  time  he  made  out  the  dim  lines  of  another 
man's  figure  sitting  on  the  table  beside  one  of  the  front 
windows.  The  head  of  this  other  man  was  turned 
away  from  Billy.  He  was  watching  the  draw  through 
the  front  window.  But  there  was  no  life  in  the  draw 
—  yet. 

Billy  waited.  He  continued  to  wait.  His  feet  be- 
gan to  get  cold.  They  gradually  grew  numb.  The 
hand  that  held  the  six-shooter  began  to  have  a  fellow 
feeling,  or  lack  of  it  rather,  with  the  feet.  He  changed 
hands  and  stuffed  the  chilled  hand  under  his  nightshirt 
into  his  armpit.  A  cramp  seized  his  left  knee.  He 
straightened  it  gingerly  and  ironed  out  the  cramp  witl\ 
the  back  of  his  gun  hand. 

The  cold  crept  up  both  legs.  When  it  reached  his 
middle  a  cramp  fell  hammer-and-tongs  upon  his  right 
knee,  calf  and  sole  of  his  foot.  He  straightened  that 
leg  and  dealt  with  it  like  a  brother. 

S-s-suschloop !  A  section  of  snow  several  yards 
square  slid  off  the  roof  and  avalanched  upon  him.  At 
the  sound  the  figure  at  the  window  turned  as  if  shot. 
Billy,  by  a  supreme  effort  of  will,  stifled  the  impulse  to 


The  Trap  177 

dodge  and  held  his  body  motionless.  He  was  covered 
with  snow.  Snow  was  down  the  back  of  his  neck  as 
well  as  on  the  window  sill  in  front  of  his  mouth.  To 
all  intents  and  purposes  and  to  any  eye  he  was  a  pile  of 
snow  fallen  from  the  roof. 

Swiftly  the  figure  on  the  table  walked  across  the 
room  to  Billy's  window  and  looked  out.  Billy 
remained  with  considerable  less  movement  than  the 
proverbial  mouse.  The  snow,  while  it  covered  his 
head,  did  not  completely  conceal  his  forehead  and  eyes. 
But  Billy  reckoned  on  the  reflection  of  the  firelight  on 
the  window-pane  to  blind  somewhat  the  man  within. 
For  a  few  seconds  the  man  stood  looking  out  the 
window  over  Billy's  head.  The  pile  of  snow  he  gave 
but  the  most  passing  of  glances. 

But  to  the  frozen  nucleus  of  the  snow  pile  it  seemed 
that  the  few  seconds  were  hours  and  that  the  snow  pile 
was  subjected  to  the  most  searching  crutiny. 

The  man  returned  to  his  post  on  the  table  by  the 
front  window,  and  Billy  breathed  again.  He  had  been 
unable  to  distinguish  the  man's  features.  The  light 
from  the  fire  was  not  strong  enough. 

After  another  century  of  waiting  Billy  perceived  that 
the  fire  was  again  burning  low.  There  was  a  small 
spurt  of  sparks  as  the  remnant  of  the  log  fell  apart. 
The  man  slipped  from  the  table  and  strode  across  the 
room  to  the  pile  of  logs  and  sticks  beside  the  fireplace. 

This  was  the  moment  for  which  Billy  Wingo  had 
been  waiting.  He  scrambled  on  hands  and  knees  to 
the  front  corner  of  the  ranch  house.  Whipping  a  box 
of  matches  from  a  hip  pocket,  he  lit  one  in  a  cupped 
hand. 


178        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

He  let  the  match  burn  his  fingers  before  flipping  it 
down.  He  stood  at  gaze,  straining  his  eyes  down  the 
draw  toward  the  Hillsville  trail.  Even  as  he  looked 
a  dark  object  detached  itself  from  some  bushes  several 
hundred  yards  distant  and  moved  toward  the  house. 

Billy  returned  to  his  post  at  the  window.  Slowly  he 
raised  his  head  to  the  level  of  the  lower  crosspiece  of 
the  sash.  When  his  eyes  again  became  accustomed  to 
the  darkness  of  the  room  he  saw  that  the  man  was  no 
longer  near  the  fireplace.  He  was  standing  at  the  front 
window,  staring  down  the  trail. 

On  account  of  the  soft  snow  Billy  did  not  hear  the 
approaching  horse  until  it  had  almost  reached  the 
ranch  house  door.  When  the  horse  stopped  the  man 
inside  the  ranch  house  moved  quietly  to  the  door  and 
stood  at  one  side  of  it.  His  hand  moved  to  his  leg 
and  came  away. 

The  rider  dismounted.  Billy  heard  him  rattle  the 
latch  of  the  door. 

"  Don't  shoot!  "  he  heard  him  say  in  an  agonized 
whisper.  "  Don't  shoot,  for  Gawd's  sake!  " 

Billy,  watching  at  the  window,  saw  the  man  in  the 
room  fling  open  the  door.  For  an  instant  the  tall  and 
hatless  form  of  Judge  Driver  showed  black  against  the 
expanse  of  snow  framed  in  the  doorway.  Again  came 
the  plea  for  mercy  —  a  whisper  no  longer,  but  a  wild 
cry  of  "  Don't  shoot!  Don't  shoot!  It's  me! 
Driver!"  as  the  judge,  realizing  only  too  well  that 
any  such  outcry  was  tantamount  to  a  confession  of 
guilt,  plunged  into  the  room.  Obviously  his  purpose 
was  to  escape  the  fire  of  the  avenging  rifles  that  he  had 
every  reason  to  believe  were  somewhere  in  the  brush 


The  Trap  179 

along  the  draw.  He  was  acting  precisely  as  Billy  had 
reckoned  he  would  act,  and  there  was  not  the  slightest 
danger  of  Billy  or  any  of  his  men  shooting  him.  But 
a  very  real  danger  lay  behind  the  ranch  house  door. 
The  judge's  only  chance  lay  in  convincing  the  man 
behind  the  door  in  time. 

He  convinced  him.  The  man  yanked  him  roughly 
into  the  room  and  slammed  the  door  shut. 

"  Thank  Gawd !  Thank  Gawd !  "  babbled  the  judge, 
sinking  back  against  the  door,  "  I  thought  you'd  shoot 
me  I  " 

"  I  damn  near  did,"  remarked  the  man,  whose  voice 
Billy  now  recognized  as  that  of  a  late  arrival  in  town, 
named  Slike.  "  If  you  hadn't  jerked  your  hat  off  so's 
I  could  see  your  face,  I  would  have.  When  will  Wingo 
get  here,  and  didja  get  him  to  come  by  himself  all 
right?  Huh?  Why  don't  you  answer?  Whatsa 
matter  ?  Isn't  he  coming  or  what  ?  By  Gawd,  you're 
wearing  his  clothes!  Where  is  he?" 

"  He's  here  !  "  gurgled  the  judge. 

"  Where?  "    Slike's  voice  was  a  terrible  snarl. 

"  Here  —  up  on  the  flat." 

Slike  promptly  seized  the  judge  by  the  throat. 
"  Then  you  led  him  here.  What  are  you  trying  to  do 
—  double-cross  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  gulped  the  judge,  pulling  at  the  other's 
wrists.  "  I  couldn't  help  it !  He  forced  me  to  come  I  " 

"Then  you  did  lead  him  here,  damn  your  soul  I 
You  white-livered  cur,  do  you  think  I'm  gonna  hang  on 
your  account?  What  did  you  tell  him?  Answer  me, 
damn  you!  " 

To  the  accompaniment  of  a  string  of  most  ferocious 


i8o        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

oaths,  Slike  shook  the  judge  as  the  terrier  shakes  the 
rat.  The  judge  fought  back  as  best  he  could.  But  he 
was  no  match  for  this  man  of  violence.  Tiring  at  last, 
Slike  flung  him  on  the  floor  and  kicked  him. 

"I'd  oughta  stomp  you  to  death  1"  he  squalled. 
"  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Nothing!  Nothing!  "  cried  the  judge.  "  He 
must  have  guessed  it!  " 

Dan  Slike  laughed.  It  was  a  laugh  to  make  you 
flinch  away.  The  hair  at  the  base  of  Billy  Wingo's 
neck  lifted  like  the  hackles  of  a  fighting  dog. 

"  Guessed  it!"  yelped  Slike.  "  Guessed  it!  Aw 
right,  let  it  go  at  that.  How  far  away  is  he?  " 

But  the  judge  had  his  cue  by  now.  "  He's  two  or 
three  miles  back,"  he  said  faintly.  "  If  you  start  now 
you  can  get  away." 

"  You  know  damn  well  there's  too  much  snow," 
snapped  Slike.  "  How  many's  he  got  with  him?  " 

«  One  —  two." 

Slike  kicked  the  judge  in  the  short  ribs.  "  How 
many?  Tell  the  truth!" 

"  Tut-two." 

4  Three  in  all,  huh?  and  you  and  me  are  two  —  say 
one  man  and  a  half,  anyway.  Two  to  one  call  it. 
What's  fairer  than  that,  I'd  like  to  know?  We'll 
finish  it  out  in  the  smoke  right  now." 

uWhat?"  There  was  considerably  more  than 
pained  incredulity  in  the  judge's  tone. 

''  We'll  shoot  it  out  with  'em  here,  I  said.  I  ain't 
kicked  all  the  fighting  blood  out  of  you,  have  I  ?  If  I 
have  I  can  soon  kick  it  in  again.  Here,  come  alive, 
you  lousy  pup !  Get  the  gun  off  that  feller  I  downed. 


The  Trap  181 

It's  on  his  leg  yet.  His  Winchester  is  over  there  in 
the  corner.  It's  loaded,  and  there's  two  boxes  of  cart- 
ridges on  that  shelf.  Bring  'em  all  over  here.  Then 
you  take  that  window  and  I'll  take  this  one.  We'll 
give  'em  the  surprise  of  their  young  lives.  Get  a 
wiggle  on  you,  Judge.  You've  got  a  brush  ahead  of 
you.  Fight?  You  can  gamble  you'll  fight !  It's  you 
or  them,  remember!  " 

"  Suppose  he  comes  bustin'  in  the  back  way?" 
quavered  the  judge,  perceiving  that  he  had  indeed 
fallen  between  two  stools. 

"  We'll  try  to  take  care  of  him.  But  he'll  come  the 
other  way,  I  guess." 

But  Slike  guessed  wrong,  for  Billy  Wingo,  judging 
that  the  psychological  moment  had  arrived,  shoved  his 
gun  hand  through  a  window  pane  and  shouted,  "  Hands 
up!" 

"  You  dirty  Judas !  "  yelled  Slike  and,  firing  from 
the  hip,  he  whipped  three  shots  into  the  judge  before 
he  himself  fell  with  four  of  Billy  Wingo's  bullets 
through  his  shoulder  and  neck. 

Shot  through  and  through,  Judge  Driver  dropped 
in  a  huddle  and  died. 

Slike,  supporting  himself  on  an  elbow,  mouthed 
curses  at  the  man  who  he  believed  had  betrayed  him. 
The  murderer's  supporting  arm  slid  out  from  under 
and  he  collapsed  in  a  dead  faint,  even  as  Billy  Wingo, 
with  window  glass  cascading  from  his  head  and  should- 
ers, sprang  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

OPEN  AND  SHUT 

"  WELL,"  said  the  district  attorney,  "  you  can't 
hold  this  man  on  any  such  biased  evidence  as  this." 

"  But  you  see  I  am  holding  him,"  pointed  out  Billy 
Wingo. 

"  They'll  get  him  out  on  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus." 

"They?     Who's  they?" 

"  His  friends.     I  suppose  the  man  has  friends." 

u  Oh,  yes,"  acquiesced  Billy,  u  the  man  has  friends. 
Too  many  friends." 

The  district  attorney  looked  away.  '  You'd  better 
let  him  escape  —  or  something,"  he  suggested  brazenly. 
"  We  —  we  mustn't  be  made  ridiculous,  you  know." 

uWe?  We?  Don't  get  me  mixed  up  with  you, 
Rale.  I'm  particular  who  I  bracket  with,  sort  of. 
Another  thing,  the  last  time  you  were  in  here  you  went 
out  on  your  head,  remember.  Well,  lemme  point  out 
that  you're  here,  I'm  here,  so's  the  door,  and  history  is 
just  the  same  thing  over  again." 

The  close-set  little  eyes  wavered.  "  I  tell  you,  Win- 
go,  the  case  looks  black  for  you  too." 

Billy  Wingo  rolled  and  lit  a  placid  cigarette  before 
he  spoke.  "Black?  For  me?"  Inquiringly. 

"  I'm  afraid  so." 

4  You  mean  you  hope  so.     Go  on." 


Open  and  Shut  183 

"  There  are  a  great  many  strange  things  about  the 
whole  affair.  For  instance,  why  was  Judge  Driver 
wearing  your  clothes  when  the  bodies  were  found  ?  If, 
as  you  say,  you  saw  the  whole  thing,  why  did  you  not 
prevent  the  murder?  How  do  we  know  that  you  did 
not  kill  both  Tom  Walton  and  the  judge  and  then  lay 
the  blame  on  this  stranger?  " 

"  You  don't  know,"  admitted  Billy.  "  That's  the 
worst  of  it.  But  you  will  know.  Yeah,  you  will 
know." 

"  I  intend  to  look  into  your  side  of  the  case  very 
closely,  Wingo,"  declared  the  district  attorney.  "  It 
may  be  that  everything  has  not  yet  been  told." 

"  There  is  more  in  this  than  meets  the  eye,"  nodded 
Billy.  "  Considerable  more." 

"  If  you  persist  in  holding  this  man  for  a  hearing," 
said  Rale  impressively,  "  it  may  —  will,  I  should  say 
—  involve  you.  I'd  hate  to  see  you  get  into  trouble." 

"  I'll  bet  you  would,"  Billy  concurred  warmly. 
"  You'd  hate  it  like  you  do  your  left  eye.  But  I'm 
gonna  gamble  with  you.  I'll  hold  the  man  till  the 
judge  decides  what  to  do." 

"  In  that  case,  I'll  send  for  Judge  Clasp  at  once." 

"  Why  Judge  Clasp?     Why  bother  that  old  gent?  " 

"  Because  Driver's  dead,"  the  district  attorney  ex- 
plained impatiently.  "  We  have  to  have  a  judge  to 
hold  the  hearing." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  that.     I've  sent  for  one." 

"Who?" 

"  Judge  Donelson." 

"  But  he's  the  Federal  judge,  and  he  lives  way  over 
in  Hillsville,"  objected  Rale.  "  Judge  Clasp  is  nearer. 


184        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

In  a  case  of  this  kind  when  the  judge  of  a  district  is 
unavailable,  the  nearest  judge  takes  over  the  district. 
The  statutes " 

"  The  statutes  say  '  any  judge,'  "  interrupted  Billy 
Wingo.  u  On  this  point  I  am  quite  clear.  I  looked  it 
up  to  make  sure.  '  Any  judge  '  means  '  any  judge.' 
Nothing  else.  And  you  know  that  Judge  Donelson  is 
a  territorial  as  well  as  Federal  Judge.  Technicalities 
can't  pull  your  wagon  out  of  this  hole,  Arthur,  old 
settler." 

"  I  shall  send  for  Judge  Clasp  at  once,"  bumbled 
Arthur,  old  settler. 

"  If  you  send  right  away,  he  should  be  here  by  day 
after  to-morrow.  Yep,  day  after  to-morrow  at  the 
earliest." 

u  Judge  Donelson  can't  get  here  till  the  day  after 
that,"  said  Rale  triumphantly. 

"  Oh,  he  can't,  can't  he?  "  smiled  Billy.  "  Unless 
he  has  an  accident  he'll  be  here  to-morrow.  You  see, 
Arthur,  I  started  Riley  Tyler  off  to  Hillsville  ten  min- 
utes after  I  arrested  Slike.  That's  why  I'm  gamblin' 
that  Judge  Donelson  will  get  here  first." 

The  district  attorney  openly  lost  his  temper.  "  I 
don't  regard  the  evidence  as  given  sufficient  for  indict- 
ment. I  shall  ask  the  judge  not  to  hold  him." 

"  Don't  do  anything  rash,  Arthur.  Remember  the 
hearing  will  be  at  the  Walton  ranch  to-morrow  after- 
noon." 

"  The  Walton  ranch  I  It'll  be  held  here  in  Driver's 
office,  that's  where  it  will  be  held." 

"  Not  a-tall.  I  want  Judge  Donelson  to  see  the 
layout.  Then  he'll  be  able  to  tell  better  what's  what. 


Open  and  Shut  185 

The  Walton  ranch  to-morrow  afternoon.     Don't  for- 
get." 

"Your  Honor,  I  don't  see  how  this  man  can  be 
held/'  protested  the  district  attorney.  "  I  claim  that 
the  sheriff's  testimony  is  biased.  How  do  we  know 
that  it  wasn't  the  sheriff  himself  who  murdered  both 
men  and  wounded  Slike?  " 

"You,  can  easily  see,  Judge,"  put  in  the  coroner 
smoothly,  "  How  flimsy  the  evidence  is  against  the 
prisoner.  It  is  practically  his  word  against  the  sheriff's 
The  prisoner  has  explained  everything  —  how  he  was 
coming  to  the  ranch  on  business  and  was  arrested  by 
the  sheriff  the  minute  he  stepped  inside  the  doorway. 
Why,  your  Honor,  it's  the  plainest  open-and-shut  case 
I  ever  saw.  Absolutely  nothing  to  it." 

"  The  coroner's  right,"  boomed  the  district  attorney. 
"  And  I  hereby  ask  that  Dan  Slike  be  released  from 
custody  and "  he  paused  dramatically.  ' 

"  Well  —  "  prompted  Judge  Donelson,  his  old  eyes 
inscrutable. 

"  And  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  charge  the  sheriff,  William 
H.  Wingo,  with  the  murder  of  Thomas  Walton,  the 
murder  of  Judge  Driver,  and  assault  with  intent  to  kill 
upon  Daniel  Slike." 

"  Didn't  the  coroner's  jury  bring  in  a  verdict  of  *  at 
the  hands  of  persons  unknown  '  ?  "  inquired  Judge  Don- 
elson. 

"  They  did,"  admitted  the  district  attorney,  "  but  it 
was  in  direct  opposition  to  the  evidence.  Indeed,  the 
coroner  instructed  the  jurymen  otherwise." 

"  Then  he  exceeded  his  duty.     But  that  by  the  way. 


186        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

The   jury  brought  in   a   '  persons  unknown  '   verdict. 
However,  I  do  not  agree  with  the  jury." 

"  I  knew  you  would  not,"  the  district  attorney  cried 
triumphantly. 

"  No,  I  believe  the  person  is  known.  Sheriff,  will 
you  tell  us  in  your  own  words,  how  you  happened  to 
be  on  hand  in  time  to  be  a  witness  of  the  murder  of 
Judge  Driver?" 

Like  so  many  trained  seals  those  present  turned  their 
heads  to  stare  at  the  sheriff.  Some  eyes  were  friendly, 
some  noncommittal,  but  the  majority  were  unfriendly. 
This  was  because  the  crowd  consisted  largely  of  county 
office-holders.  Billy  gave  a  straightforward  and  de- 
tailed account  of  everything  that  had  led  up  to  the 
murder  of  Judge  Driver. 

As  he  concluded  his  story  Judge  Donelson  nodded  a 
slow  head.  '  Why  did  you  not  immediately  enter  the 
ranch  house  after  you  looked  in  the  window  and  saw 
the  boot  soles  of  the  dead  man?  " 

u  Judge,"  said  Billy,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  "  sup- 
pose now  you  went  out  hunting  and  you  wanted  to  get 
more  than  one  deer  and  had  only  one  cartridge,  what 
would  you  do  —  shoot  the  first  deer  you  saw  or  wait 
till  you  got  two  in  line?  " 

"  I  see,"  nodded  the  Judge.  "  I  see.  Still,  Sheriff, 
there  is  the  word  of  Dan  Slike.  It  would  have  been 
better  had  you  had  another  witness." 

"  Another  witness,"  said  Billy.  "  If  that's  all  you 
want  I  have  one.  Riley  Tyler,  stand  up." 

The  younger  deputy  stood  up  and  was  duly  sworn. 
He  deposed  that  the  sheriff's  match  signal  to  Guerilla 
Melody  to  send  the  judge  down  to  the  house  had  been 


Open  and  Shut  187 

also  a  signal  to  him,  Riley  Tyler,  to  come  down  from 
the  flat  and  take  position  under  the  window  directly 
opposite  the  one  at  which  the  sheriff  was  posted.  All 
this  had  taken  place  according  to  plan.  Riley  Tyler 
had  heard  every  word  uttered  by  both  the  judge  and 
Dan  Slike  and  had  also  seen  Slike  shoot  the  judge. 
Furthermore  he  had  talked  with  the  Federal  deputy 
marshal  in  Hillsville  and  learned  that  the  marshal  had 
never  even  thought  of  asking  Judge  Driver  to  approach 
the  sheriff  concerning  the  alleged  bootlegging  activities 
of  Jake  Kilroe. 

Riley  Tyler  concluded  his  testimony  and  sat  down, 
taking  occasion  as  he  did  so  to  wink  at  the  district  at- 
torney. The  latter  glared  back  with  frank  dislike. 

"  The  evidence  I  have  just  heard, "  said  Judge  Donel- 
son,  "  is  clear.  There  is  no  shred,  jot  or  tittle  of  it 
that  throws  suspicion  on  Sheriff  Wingo.  I  will  hold 
Daniel  Slike  for  the  grand  jury.  If  Judge  Driver  were 
alive,  I  would  hold  him  as  accessory  before  and  after 
the  fact.  Do  you  still  think,  Mr.  Rale,  that  Mr.  Win- 
go  should  be  held?  " 

"Why  —  uh  —  uh "  stalled  the  district  at- 
torney. 

"  Tell  me,"  persisted  Judge  Donelson,  "  exactly 
what  you  think?  " 

But  the  district  attorney  did  not  dare  tell  Judge 
Donelson  anything  like  that.  Instead  he  said,  with  a 
smile  he  strove  to  make  natural  and  pleasant: 

"  Hold  Mr.  Wingo?  Certainly  not.  I  have  mis- 
judged him.  I  am  sure  he  will  not  bear  malice  against 


me." 


"  Hold  it  against  Mr.  Rale?"  said  Billy,  with  the 


188         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

straightest  face  in  the  world.  u  Certainly  not.  I  have 
misjudged  him.  But  I  am  sure  he  will  not  bear  malice 
against  me." 

Even  the  judge  smiled. 

Dan  Slike,  lying  on  an  improvised  bed  of  blankets  in 
the  corner  of  the  room,  raised  his  head.  "  You'll  never 
hang  me,  y'understand,"  said  Dan  Slike.  "  And  you 
ain't  got  a  jail  in  the  territory  big  enough  to  hold  me 
after  I  get  shut  of  these  scratches.  I'll  see  you  later, 
Sheriff." 

Dan  Slike  added  a  curse  or  two  and  relapsed  into 
silence.  Not  a  likable  person,  Mr.  Slike.  No,  not  at 
all. 

"  This,"  said  Rafe  Tuckleton,  "  is  a  helluva  note." 

"  It's  all  your  fault,"  the  district  attorney  recrimin- 
ated bitterly. 

"  You  did  most  of  it,"  flung  back  Rafe,  always  an 
enthusiastic  player  at  the  great  game  of  passing  the 
buck.  "  You  know  damn  well " 

u  Who  thought  of  it  first?  "  interrupted  the  district 
attorney.  "  Who  was  the  bright  li'l  feller,  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

"  Don't  you  try  to  ride  me,"  snarled  the  genial  Rafe. 
"  Dontcha  do  it." 

u  Aw,  shut  up;  you  gimme  a  pain!  Gawd,  and  I'll 
bet  your  parents  thought  you  was  just  too  cunnin'  for 
anything.  It's  a  shame  they  let  you  live.  To  think  of 
all  the  fatal  accidents  that  might  have  happened  to  you, 
and  didn't,  almost  makes  a  feller  lose  his  faith  in 
Providence.  '  Oh,  yes,'  says  you,  '  Wingo  will  walk 
into  the  trap  with  his  eyes  shut.  It'll  be  just  too  easy.'  ' 


Open  and  Shut  189 

"  Well,  the  first  part  worked  all  right,"  protested 
Rafe  Tuckleton.  "  Dan  downed  Walton  without  any 
trouble.  How  could  I  tell  Driver  would  slip  up  on  his 
part?  I'm  glad  Slike  downed  him.  Served  him  right 
for  being  a  fool.  Reelfoot  did  his  part  all  right,  too." 

"  How  do  we  know  Reelfoot  did?  How  do  we  know 
what  happened  before  the  fraycas  at  Walton's?  We 
don't.  *  We  don't  know  anything  except  that  Tom 
Driver  is  dead,  Dan  Slike  wounded  in  the  calaboose, 
and  Skinny  Shindle  has  skedaddled." 

"  Skinny  tell  any  one  where  he  was  goin1?  " 

"  He  did  not.  Soon  as  he  heard  that  infernal  Bill 
Wingo  had  pulled  through  without  a  hole  in  him, 
Skinny  saddled  his  horse  and  went  some'ers  else 
a-whoopin'.  And  I  don't  think  he  expects  to  come  back. 
Oh,  it's  a  fine  mix-up  all  round,  a  fine  mix-up." 

"Sh-sh,"  cautioned  Rafe.     "  Somebody  coming  - 
oh,  it's  you,  Tip.     '  Lo." 

"  Yeah,  it's  me,  Tip,"  said  O'Gorman,  closing  the 
door  carefully  and  sitting  down  on  the  only  vacant 
chair.  "  Look  here,  Rafe,  what  did  I  tell  you  about 
downing  Tom  Walton?  " 

"  I  ain't  downed  Tom  Walton,"  denied  Rafe  sullen- 
ly. 

"  You  had  it  done,"  insisted  O'Gorman. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  did?  "  dodged  Rafe. 
"  By  the  way  it  was  gormed  up." 

"  I  suppose  now  if  you'd  planned  it " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  planned  it  in  the  first  place.     I 

told  you  to  keep  your  paws  off,  and  now  look  at  the 

damn  thing." 

"  It  wasn't  my  fault,"  barked  back  Rafe. 


190        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Can't  you  say  anything  different  ?"  the  district 
attorney  threw  in  drearily. 

"  You  don't  even  seem  able  to  obey  orders  any 
more,"  said  Tip  O'Gorman. 

u  I  don't  have  to  take  orders  from  you,"  flared  up 
Rafe. 

"  No,  you  don't  have  to.  Nobody  has  to  do  any- 
thing they  don't  want  to.  But  we've  decided,  Rafe, 
that  hereafter  you  sit  on  the  tail-board.  You  don't 
pick  up  the  lines  again,  see." 

"  Who's  we?  "  demanded  Rafe. 

"  Craft,  Larder  and  myself." 

"  You  can't  do  anything!  "     Contemptuously. 

"  No?  For  one  thing,  we  can  keep  you  from  ship- 
ping so  much  as  a  single  cow." 

"How?" 

"  Our  ranges  surround  you  on  three  sides,  and  where 
we  don't  fit  in,  the  mountains  do.  You  can't  drive 
through  the  mountains,  and  we  won't  let  you  drive 
through  us.  That's  how." 

"Huh?" 

"Yeah,  it's  root,  hog,  or  die,  feller.  You  gonna  be 
good?" 

"I  —  I  suppose  so." 

"  Good  enough.  One  slip  on  your  part  and  you 
know  what  happens,  Rafe.  Bear  it  in  mind,  and  it'll 
be  money  in  your  pocket." 

"  You  talk  like  a  minister." 

"  I  wish  I  was  one,  preaching  the  funeral  sermon 
over  your  grave.  Lord,  what  a  stinking  skunk  you  are, 
Rafe!" 

«  Look  here " 


Open  and  Shut  191 

"  Blah !  You  are  a  skunk.  So  crazy  after  money 
you  had  to  go  and  hurt  li'l  Hazel  Walton.  Damn 
your  soul,  I  told  you  not  to  do  anything  to  hurt  her! 
And  you  bulled  right  ahead !  You  lousy  packrat,  you've 
broken  that  child's  heart !  She  thought  the  world  and 
all  of  her  uncle,  she  did.  I  tell  you,  Rafe,  you  ain't 
fit  to  drink  with  a  Digger  or  eat  with  a  dog!  " 

"  I  ain't  gonna  fight  with  you,"  declared  Rafe  Tuck- 
leton. 

"  I  was  hoping  you  would,"  averred  Tip.  "  There'd 
be  one  torn-fool  less  to  worry  about  if  you  did." 

"  No,  I  can  wait,"  said  Rafe  with  a  feline  grin. 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  watching  you,  you  rattle-snake," 
nodded  Tip. 

"  Go  easy,  you  two!  "  snapped  the  district  attorney, 
as  a  dog  in  the  next  room  began  to  bark.  "  There's 
somebody  comin'  up  the  path." 

The  squabble  went  dead. 

"  Good  thing  the  wind's  yowlin'  its  head  off  to- 
night," observed  Tip  O'Gorman.  "  I  forgot  myself 
for  a  shake." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  looked  at  the  floor.  There  was 
venom  in  his  heart  and  death  in  his  thoughts. 

Tip  O'Gorman  fingered  out  the  makings. 

He  was  shaking  in  the  tobacco  when  Billy  Wingo 
opened  the  door  and  strode  without  ceremony  into  the 
office.  He  was  followed  by  Riley  Tyler.  The  latter 
slammed  the  door  behind  him  and  set  his  back  against 
it. 

"  Three  li'l  friends  together,"  said  Billy,  his  eyes 
gleaming  at  them  beneath  the  peak  of  his  fur  cap. 
saw  your  light  as  I  was  passing,  Arthur,  and  I  thought 


192        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

I'd  sift  in  and  thank  you  for  all  those  kind  words  of 
yours  yesterday.  I  appreciated  'em,  you  bet.  You 
too,  Rafe,  did  about  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  Tip 
is  the  only  one  I  can't  thank." 

He  smiled  lazily  on  Tip.     The  latter  grinned  back. 

"  It  ain't  my  fault  you  can't,"  returned  Tip  cryp- 
tically. 

Billy  nodded,  although  naturally  he  did  not  grasp  the 
other's  meaning,  and  said,  u  Got  another  li'l  matter 
for  you  gentlemen.  Finding  you  all  together  thisaway 
is  gonna  save  me  trouble.  I'm  in  luck  to-night." 

"  Aw,  spit  it  out!  "      Rafe  directed  rudely. 

Billy  looked  pained.  "  Our  long-faced  li'l  playmate 
seems  all  fussed  up  over  something.  Well,  boys  will 
be  boys,  I  suppose,  and  burned  fingers  now  and  then 
have  got  to  be  expected." 

He  paused  and  regarded  them  gravely.  Rafe's 
answering  stare  was  darkling,  the  district  attorney's 
uncomfortable,  while  Tip's  was  impersonal. 

"  I  hope  you  boys  are  feeling  generous  to-night," 
resumed  Billy. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  stole  a  glance  at  O'Gorman.  Gen- 
erous? 

4  The  fact  is,"  went  on  the  calm  voice,  "  I'm  takin' 
up  a  collection  —  a  collection  for  Tom  Walton's  niece, 
Hazel." 

Billy  thought  that  at  the  mention  of  the  ranchman's 
name  both  the  district  attorney  and  Tuckleton  stiffened 
their  slouching  bodies,  but  he  could  not  be  positive. 
The  lamp  on  the  table  gave  a  poor,  weak  light. 

"  Her  uncle's  gettin'  downed  thisaway  will  be  a  bad 
blow  for  her.  He  was  all  she  had.  Y'understand  now 


Open  and  Shut  193 

—  the  girl  won't  ever  know  that  this  is  any  benefit  like. 
She  mustn't  ever  know.  It's  insurance  on  Tom's  life, 
see?  Sam  Prescott  was  keepin'  the  policy  for  him  in 
his  safe.  Tom  must  have  forgot  to  tell  her  about  it. 
That's  what  Sam's  going  to  tell  her.  How  much  will 
you  boys  give?  " 

Tip  O'Gorman  did  not  hesitate.  "  You  can  put  us 
down  for  a  thousand  apiece." 

"  What!  "  chorused  the  district  attorney  and  Rafe 
Tuckleton. 

The  sheriff  cocked  an  eyebrow  at  the  two  men. 
"  You  think  it's  too  little  ?  Well,  I  guess  maybe  you're 
right.  A  thousand  is  enough  for  Tip  here,  but  you 
two  are  rich  men.  Say  twice  that  —  two  thousand 
from  each  of  you  will  be  about  right." 

The  two  rich  men  were  speechless.  But  only  for  a 
moment. 

"  Two  thousand!  "  gasped  Rafe.     "  Not  a  nickel." 

"  Not  a  thin  dime !  "  contradicted  the  district  at- 
torney. 

"  Say  not  so !  "  said  Billy  Wingo. 

Tip  O'Gorman  nodded.     "  '  Say  not  so,'  is  right." 

Billy  looked  at  the  speaker  approvingly.  "  I'm  glad 
Tip  agrees  with  me.  I'll  take  the  money  in  gold, 
greenbacks  and  silver.  No  drafts." 

The  district  attorney  squealed  like  a  stuck  pig.  "  No 
nothing,  you  mean!  Whadda  you  think  we  are?  " 

"  A  couple  of  rascals,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "  And 
there's  a  tax  on  rascals.  That  If  I  girl  has  got  to  be 
taken  care  of." 

Billy's  voice  was  earnest.  But  a  sardonic  devil 
looked  out  of  his  eyes.  He  yearned  with  a  great 


194        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

yearning  for  the  district  attorney  and  Rafe  Tuckleton 
to  join  battle  with  him.  He  knew  that  he  could  easily 
take  care  of  both.  Tip  O'Gorman  was  the  unknown 
quantity.  One  could  never  be  quite  sure  what  Tip  was 
thinking.  One  thing,  Tip  was  neither  a  murderer  nor 
a  dealer  in  murder.  That  had  never  been  Tip's  way. 
And  something  told  Billy  that  in  the  present  crisis  Tip 
would  keep  his  hands  off.  The  issue  lay  strictly  be- 
tween Rafe,  the  district  attorney  and  Billy  Wingo. 

The  district  attorney  by  a  great  effort  recovered  his 
mental  balance.  "  You  are  threatening,"  he  bumbled 
lamely. 

"  Not  a-tall,"  returned  Bill.  "  I  only  said  you  and 
Rafe  are  a  couple  of  rascals.  What's  fairer  than  that, 
I'd  like  to  know?" 

"  It's  blackmail  —  extortion,"  the  district  attorney 
trotted  on. 

"  Blackmail  and  extortion  to  subscribe  money  for  the 
support  of  a  girl  whose  uncle  has  been  murdered?  No, 
no,  you  don't  mean  it,  Arthur,  old  settler.  You  mean 
that  you  and  Rafe  will  be  glad  to  do  your  parts.  That's 
what  you  mean." 

"  No."     Thus  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

"  Yes  —  and  again  yes.  Three  times  in  fact.  Rafe, 
how  about  that  last  deal  of  yours  with  the  Indian 
agent?  Remember  it?  The  agent,  y'understand,  gets 
drunk  sometimes,  and  a  drunk  will  talk.  Ever  thought 
of  that?" 

If  Rafe  had  not  thought  of  that,  he  thought  of  it 
now. 

"  And  how  about  that  last  bribe  you  took?  "  pressed 
Billy,  turning  accusingly  on  the  district  attorney. 


Open  and  Shut  195 

The  immediate  shrinkage  in  the  form  of  the  district 
attorney  was  plainly  visible  to  the  naked  eye.  He 
went  a  trifle  paler  too. 

"  Do  I  get  the  two  thousand  apiece  for  Hazel  Wal- 
ton, Arthur?  "  demanded  Billy. 

:'  Why-uh  —  yes,  yes,  of  course.  I'd  always  intend- 
ed to  contribute.  I  was  just  fooling.  Yes." 

"And  you,  Rafe?" 

Rafe   Tuckleton   nodded   a  reluctant  head.     "  I'll 

pay." 

1  That's  fine,"  said  Billy  heartily.  "  I'll  be  around 
to-morrow  for  the  money." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  did  not  attempt  to  demur  at  the 
shortness  of  time  as  he  had  done  with  Dan  Slike.  He 
recognized  the  utter  futility  of  arguing  with  a  man  like 
Billy  Wingo. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Billy,  staring  hard  at  Rafe 
Tuckleton,  "  I  wonder  if  it  was  any  part  of  Dan  Slike's 
plan  to  kill  Miss  Walton  too?  " 

Rafe's  face  went  wooden.     "  How  should  I  know?  " 

Billy  nodded.  "  I  was  just  wonderin'.  No  harm 
in  that,  I  suppose.  Lucky  she  wasn't  there  alia  same." 

"  It  was  lucky,"  stated  Tip  O'Gorman.  "  Do  you 
know  I've  been  doing  a  li'l  wondering  myself.  Why 
wasn't  she  there  ?  " 

"  She  just  happened  to  be  visiting  the  Prescotts'," 
replied  Billy  Wingo,  his  eyes  on  Rafe's  face. 

Rafe  did  his  best  to  return  the  stare,  but  his  eyes 
would  drop  despite  his  best  effort. 

"'You  know  that  letter  from  Miss  Walton  Judge 
Driver  threw  in  the  fire  —  the  one  you  heard  me  tell- 
ing Judge  Donelson  about?  "  went  on  Billy.  *  Yeah, 


196        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

that  one.  It  might  have  fooled  me  —  I'm  only  human, 
you  know,  if " 

"  You're  too  modest,"  Tip  interrupted  dryly. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  one  or  two  li'l  things, " 
resumed  Billy.  "  The  handwriting  was  a  fine  imitation 
—  you  couldn't  beat  it.  But  I  knew  she  hadn't  written 
it."  He  paused,  and  began  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  passed  his  tongue  across  his  lips. 
The  district  attorney  looked  down  at  his  locked  hands. 
Of  the  three  Tip  O'Gorman  was  the  only  one  to  remain 
his  natural  self. 

"  G'on,"  urged  Tip,  "  give  it  a  name." 

"You  see,"  said  Billy,  "Skinny  Shindle  told  me 
Miss  Walton  gave  him  the  note  about  2.30  P.M.  Now 
on  that  afternoon  I  happened  to  be  at  the  Prescott 
ranch.  Miss  Walton  was  there  visiting  Miss  Prescott. 
I  didn't  leave  the  Prescotts'  till  nearly  three  o'clock, 
and  Miss  Walton  was  still  there  and  intending  to  spend 
the  night.  That's  how  I  knew  she  couldn't  have  written 
that  note." 

"  Nine  miles  from  Prescott's  to  Walton's,"  said  Tip. 

"  Nearer  ten,"  corrected  Billy.  "  Skinny  was  sure 
careless.  So  were  several  other  men.  You've  got  to 
make  things  fit." 

He  nodded  kindly  to  the  company  and  abruptly  de- 
parted with  his  companion. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  meant  by  '  making  things  fit,'  ' 
mused  the  district   attorney,   following  five   minutes' 
silence. 

"  I  dunno,"  Rafe  mumbled  in  accents  of  the  deepest 
gloom,  "  but  you  can  put  down  a  bet  he  meant  some- 
thing." 


Open  and  Shut  197 

"  He  did,"  declared  Tip  O'Gorman,  "  and  I'm  tell- 
ing  you  two  straight,  flat  and  final,  you  ain't  fit  to  play 
checkers  with  a  blind  man.  It  makes  a  feller  ashamed 
to  do  business  with  you,  you're  so  thumb-handed,  turn- 
ble-footed  foolish.  At  the  time  the  note  was  written 
from  Walton's  the  girl  was  at  Prescott's.  Oh,  great ! 
And  he  knew  it  alia  time.  And  you  two  jokes  wondered 
why  your  scheme  fell  through !  You  know  now,  don't 
you  ?  Gawd  I  What  a  pair  you  are !  Oh,  I've  always 
believed  that  a  man  makes  his  own  li'l  hell.  Whatever 
devilishness  he  does  on  this  earth  he  pays  for  on  this 
earth.  You  fellers  are  already  beginning  to  pay." 

Thus  Tip  O'Gorman,  the  moralist.  He  departed 
wrapped  in  a  virtuous  silence.  He  did  not  dare  let 
the  others  know  the  actual  worry  that  rode  his  soul. 
He  knew  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  when  Billy  Wingo 
would  be  camping  on  his  trail  too.  Lord,  how  he'd 
been  fooled!  He  had  never  suspected  that  the  sheriff 
possessed  such  capabilities.  And  how  had  the  sheriff 
learned  of  that  flour  deal  between  Rafe  and  the  Indian 
agent.  The  flour  supposed  to  have  been  bought 
through  another  man.  Rafe  had  not  appeared  in  the 
affair  at  all,  yet  Billy  Wingo  knew  all  about  it. 

And  the  bribe  taken  by  the  district  attorney.  There 
was  another  odd  chance.  Besides  the  two  principals, 
Rafe  Tuckleton  and  himself,  Tip  had  not  supposed  that 
any  one  knew  of  the  matter.  It  was  very  mysterious. 

Tip  could  have  kicked  himself.  He  alone  was  the 
individual  responsible  for  the  whole  trouble.  If  only 
he  had  not  proposed  the  election  of  Billy  Wingo  — 
But  he  had  proposed  it,  and  now  look  at  the  result! 

"  Say,  Bill,"  said  the  greatly  impressed  Riley  Tyler 


198         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

on  the  way  to  the  office,  "  what's  this  about  that  deal 
of  Rafe's  with  the  Indian  agent?  You  never  said  any- 
thing about  it  before." 

"  Good  reason,"  grinned  Billy,  "  it  just  occurred  to 
me." 

"  Occurred  to  you?  "  puzzled  Riley. 

"  Yeah,  I  don't  actually  know  of  any  deal  between 
Rafe  and  that  thief  of  an  agent;  but  knowing  Rafe  and 
knowing  the  agent,  I  guessed  likely  they  had  been  mixed 
up  together  in  a  business  way.  Seems  I  guessed  right. 
Same  with  the  district  attorney,  only  easier.  If  he's 
taken  one  bribe,  he's  taken  forty.  Wouldn't  be  Arthur 
Rale  if  he  hadn't." 

Riley  Tyler  chuckled.  "  Poker  is  one  fine  game," 
said  Riley  Tyler. 

At  the  office  they  found  Shotgun  Shillman. 

"What  luck?"  asked  Billy. 

"  Plenty,"  was  the  reply.  "  We  went  to  the  Cayley 
cabin  first.  Nobody  livin'  there.  Ashes  in  the  fire- 
place might  have  been  a  week  or  a  month  old.  But 
the  balsam  tips  in  the  bunks  were  older  than  that.  They 
were  last  summer's  cutting — all  stiffer  than  a  porcu- 
pine's quills." 

"  As  I  remember  that  cabin,"  reflected  Billy,  "  the 
balsam  grew  all  around  it." 

"  They  still  do.  We  found  a  quarter  of  beef  hang- 
ing on  a  stub  back  of  the  house.  '  There,'  says  Simon, 
*  there's  proof  for  you.'  '  Yes,'  I  says,  4  let's  see  the 
cow  it  came  off  of.'  Whatsa  use?'  says  Simon. 
1  Lots,'  I  says.  *  C'mon.'  He  did  reluctant,  bellow- 
ing alia  time  how  we'd  oughta  followT  the  tracks  leading 


Open  and  Shut  199 

away  from  the  house  toward  the  Hillsville  trail  a  mile 
away." 

"  Were  those  tracks  made  by  one  man?"  inquired 
Billy. 

"  Looked  so  to  me  —  anyway,  we  went  along  on  the 
line  of  tracks  leading  to  the  dead  cow.  It  had  been 
shot  all  right  enough.  It  oughta  been  shot.  It  had 
big-jaw." 

4  You  mean  to  tell  me  them  fellers  cut  that  quarter 
off  a  big-jaw  cow?  '  I  says  to  Simon.  '  Sure/  he  says. 
1  Aw  right/  I  says.  4  Let  it  go  at  that.'  I  poked 
around  to  find  the  other  cow.  Simon  raising  objections 
alia  time  to  me  wastin'  so  much  time  and  trying  to  get 
me  off  the  trail.  Oh,  he  didn't  care  a  whoop  about  me 
finding  the  second  cow.  Wasn't  one  enough?  Oh, 
sure,  to  hear  him  talk!  But  I  found  the  cow.  It 
hadn't  been  shot  a-tall.  Died  of  the  yallers  last  fall. 
And  it  had  just  about  half  rotted  before  freezing 
weather  set  in.  '  I  suppose,'  I  says  sarcastic,  4  both 
cows  were  killed  about  the  same  time.'  *  You've 
guessed  it,"  says  Simon,  bold  as  brass.  '  Now  all  you 
gotta  do  is  chase  right  along  back  to  the  cabin  and 
take  up  the  trail  like  I  wanted  you  to  do  in  the  first 
place  and  trail  'em  down.'  He  acted  real  disappointed 
when  I  left  him  standin'  there  and  came  away.  I'd 
have  arrested  him  right  then  only  you  said  not  to." 

"  Good  enough,"  approved  Billy.  "  Plenty  of  time 
to  arrest  him  later.  I  want  to  give  him  plenty  of  rope. 
One  of  these  days  I'll  get  a  subpoena  from  Judge  Don- 
elson  and  serve  it  on  him.  That'll  give  him  plenty  of 
time  to  think  things  over  between  now  and  the  trial." 


20O        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Simon  ain't  the  kind  to  take  things  easy,"  mused 
Shotgun  Shillman. 

"  He'll  fret  his  head  off.  About  the  time  Slike  is 
well  enough  to  stand  prosecution,  Simon  Reelfoot  will 
be  ready  to  bust." 

But  the  well-known  best-laid  plans  are  more  break- 
able than  the  equally  well-known  best-laid  eggs. 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 

WHEN  THIEVES  FALL  OUT 

"  I  TELL  you,  Rafe,"  said  Reelfoot  in  a  panic,  "  they 
suspect  me  —  they  think  I'm  mixed  up  in  this  murder 
business." 

u  Accessory  before  and  after  the  f act,"  slipped  in 
the  district  attorney.  A  reptile  himself,  he  relished 
the  wrigglings  of  another  reptile.  "  If  they  prove  it 
on  you,  you'll  be  hanged  sure  as  Dan  Slike  will  hang." 

"  I  ain't  the  only  one  they  can  prove  it  on,"  snarled 
Simon  Reelfoot. 

"Who  have  you  got  in  mind?"  Rafe  Tuckleton 
said  in  a  colorless  voice. 

"  Both  of  you,  for  instance,"  Reelfoot  informed  him. 

"  You  do  us  a  grave  injustice."  Thus  the  district 
attorney  solemnly. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  shook  his  head  at  Simon.  "  Wrong 
tree.  You  don't  know  anything  about  us." 

Simon  Reelfoot  gaped  at  both  of  them.  i4  Why,  we 
fixed  it  up  between  us.  You  know  we  did.  You  even 
wanted  two  cows  killed  so's  to  make  it  look  lifelike  to 
the  deputies." 

Rafe  looked  at  the  district  attorney.  "  The  man's 
mad." 

Simon's  teeth  snapped  together  like  a  cornered  coy- 


202        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

ote.  "  If  you're  trying  to  put  this  thing  all  off  on 
me  —  "  he  began,  and  stopped. 

"  We're  not  trying  to  put  anything  off  on  you," 
the  district  attorney  told  him  silkily.  "  There's  noth- 
ing to  put  off  on  you  anyway.  Not  a  thing.  You're 
nervous,  that's  all,  Simon.  Your  imagination  is  work- 
ing overtime." 

"  Sure  is,"  corroborated  Rafe.  "  You  don't  think 
we've  got  anything  to  do  with  the  murder  of  Tom 
Walton,  do  you,  Simon?  " 

The  Reelfoot  jaw  dropped.  The  man  stared  help- 
lessly at  Rafe  and  the  district  attorney.  "  Whatell 
did —  Say,  what  else  was  all  that  rigamarole  for 
then?" 

"  What  rigamarole  ?  "  Oh,  so  patient  was  the  voice 
of  Rafe  Tuckleton. 

Reelfoot  gulped.  "  You  had  me  go  to  Wingo's 
office,  and  rile  him  up,  and  spin  him  a  lot  of  jerkwater 
stuff  about  my  rustled  cows,  so's  to  get  him  and  his 
deputies  all  ready  to  go  away  with  me,  when  Driver 
was  to  come  in  with  that  stuff  about  Kilroe  and  keep 
Bill  in  town  while  the  deputies  went  with  me.  Well, 
you  know  how  only  Shillman  went.  But  I  couldn't  help 
that.  Anyway,  I  suppose  you  thought  you  was  foxy 
not  to  tell  me  the  rest  of  the  story  about  Skinny  Shindle 
and  the  fake  letter  and  so  forth.  Gents,  you  was  foxy. 
Yeah,  you  was  foxy.  But  I'm  foxy  himself.  I  can 
put  two  and  two  together  and  make  four  any  day." 

He  paused  and  glared  at  the  pair  of  them.  "  I 
wondered  what  it  was  all  about.  Yeah,  I  wondered, 
and  I  asked  you  and  you  said  it  was  to  keep  Bill  Wingo 
from  mixing  into  a  li'l  stock  deal.  Stock  deal  I  "  Here 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out         203 

Simon  spat  upon  the  floor.  "  Stock  deal !  "  rushed  on 
Simon.  '  You  never  said  it  was  murder." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  and  the  district  attorney  exchanged 
wooden  looks. 

"  Now  that  you  mention  it,"  said  Rafe,  "  I  don't 
believe  we  did." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  like  Tom  Walton,"  observed 
the  district  attorney. 

Simon  Reelfoot  swore  a  string  of  oaths.  "  I  didn't 
like  him,  not  a  bit.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  hung  for 
helping  having  him  killed." 

"  That  would  be  unfortunate,"  murmured  the  dis- 
trict attorney. 

"  I  ain't  sorry  he  was  killed,  of  course,"  Simon  fret- 
ted on,  unheeding.  "  That  part  was  all  right,  but  I 
didn't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in  it.  There's  no  sense  in 
doing  a  thing  like  that  if  you're  gonna  be  caught.  And 
I  don't  mean  to  be  caught!  You  didn't  have  no  right 
to  get  me  into  this  deal  without  telling  me  all  the  cir- 
cumstances first,"  he  concluded  weakly. 

"  Then  you  think  you've  been  badly  treated?" 
purred  the  district  attorney. 

"  I  know  it,"  declared  Simon. 

"  I'm  sorry." 

"  I  didn't  come  here  for  sympathy." 

"  What  did  you  come  for?  " 

"  Protection.  What  do  you  s'pose?  You've  gotta 
protect  me." 

"  Listen  to  him,  Rafe.  Says  we  gotta  protect  him. 
That  new  brand  of  whisky  at  George's  Place  is  certain- 
ly awful  stuff.  If  you'll  take  my  advice,  Simon,  you'll 
go  a  li'l  easy  on  it  till  your  system  gets  used  to  it." 


204        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Yeah,  sosh  up  by  degrees  like,"  offered  Rafe.  . 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  exasperated  Reelfoot, 
"  either  you  fellers  pull  suspicion  off  o  '  me,  or  I  go  to 
Wingo  with  the  whole  story." 

"  What'll  that  get  you?  "  demanded  Rafe.  "  No- 
thin',  just  nothin'.  Wild  tales  of  dead  cows  and  separ- 
atin'  Bill  from  his  deputies  and  all  ain't  evidence. 
Nawsir.  Think  again,  brother,  think  again." 

"  And,  anyway,"  tucked  in  the  district  attorney, 
"  what  was  wrong  with  the  wild  tale?  It  came  straight 
enough.  There  were  the  tracks  and  there  were  the 
cows.  Who  can  say  your  story  wasn't  the  truth?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  they  know  it  ain't  the  truth." 

"  How  do  they  know?  " 

Simon  did  not  make  immediate  reply.     It  was  the 
worst  thing  he  could  have  done. 

"  Well?  "prompted  Rafe. 

"  They  —  uh  —  uh  —  they  know  it." 

"How,  I  asked  you?" 

"  They  didn't  —  Shillman  got  suspicious  over  the 


cows." 


"  Why  did  he  get  suspicious  over  the  cows?  " 

Simon  Reelfoot  wriggled  in  his  chair.  "  Well  —  uh 
—  I  —  he  did,  that's  all." 

Rafe  leaned  forward.  His  face  was  sharp  with  sus- 
picion. "  Why  did  he?  " 

"I  —  I "  Simon  stammered,  and  bogged 

down  right  there. 

"  C'mon,"  directed  Rafe  inexorably.      "  Spit  it  out." 

"  One  of  the  cows  had  big-jaw,"  admitted  Reelfoot. 

Rafe  sucked  in  his  breath. 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out          205 

"  What  did  the  other  one  have?  "  almost  whispered 
the  district  attorney. 

"  The  other  one  died  of  the  yallers  last  fall,"  said 
Reelfoot  in  a  voice  that  matched  the  district  attorney's. 
"  But,"  he  added  hastily,  "  it  come  on  to  freeze  soon 
after.  I  —  I  sort  o'  hated  to  kill  two  good  cows." 

"  Seeing  that  two  good  cows  were  all  you  were  put- 
ting up  in  return  for  the  benefits  you  would  derive  from 
the  —  uh  —  political  situation,  you  could  have  afforded 
to  lose  them."  Thus  the  district  attorney,  staring  at 
Reelfoot. 

The  latter  looked  with  sullen  foreboding  at  Rafe. 
The  Tuckleton  face  was  bloated  with  rage. 

"  So  that's  how  it  is!  "  he  choked  out.  "  You  had 
your  orders  and  you  muddled  them  out  of  rank  mean- 
ness !  Too  stingy  to  kill  a  couple  of  healthy  cows,  you 
hadda  risk  everything  with  one  that  died  last  year  and 
another  with  big-jaw !  And  then,  after  youVe  got  'em 
suspectin'  you  good  and  strong  through  what's  first, 
last,  and  only  your  own  fault,  you  come  to  us  for 
help !  " 

"  Where  else  could  I  go?  "  queried  Reelfoot  sulkily. 

"  To  hell  for  all  I  care,  you  half-witted  fool  I  A 
big-jaw  steer!  And  the  other  one  half  rotten,  I'll 
bet!" 

"  I  didn't  think  he'd  notice  it,"  defended  Simon. 

"You  didn't  think!  No,  I'll  gamble  you  didn't  1 
You  never  have!  You  couldn't!  My  Gawd,  you 
deserve  to  be  hung!  I  hope  you  are!  " 

"  You  forget,  Rafe,"  said  the  district  attorney, 
"  that  you  and  I  don't  know  what  all  Mr.  Reelfoot  is 
driving  at." 


206        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

But  Rafe  Tuckleton  was  too  angry  to  keep  up  the 
farce  any  longer.  UI  hope  the  fool's  hung!"  he 
panted. 

"  I'll  take  care  not  to  go  alone,"  said  Reelfoot,  press- 
ing his  advantage.  i  You  fellers  will  have  to  see  that 
I'm  protected  or  I'll  tell  what  I  know." 

"Blah!"  blared  the  district  attorney.  "  You 
wouldn't  dare  snitch!  " 

u  I'll  dare  more  than  that  to  save  my  skin,"  Reelfoot 
declared  hardily. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  returned  to  the  charge.  u  What  in 
so-and-so  and  such-and-such  did  you  do  such  a  fool  trick 
for?  Don't  you  know  —  couldn't  you  —  oh,  whatsa 
use?" 

"  You  oughta  told  me  all  the  circumstances,"  per- 
sisted Reelfoot.  "  That  was  your  fault.  If  I'd 
knowed,  I  could  have  managed  better." 

"I  expect  —  you  couldn't,"  said  Rafe  Tuckleton, 
with  an  appreciable  pause  after  each  word. 

"  What  you  gonna  do  about  it?  "  Reelfoot  wanted 
to  know,  fidgeting  in  his  chair. 

u  You'll  be  taken  care  of  now,  you  needn't  to  worry." 

"  Oh,  fine,  fi-ine.  That  helps  a  lot,  that  does,  with 
either  Bill  Wingo  or  one  of  his  deputies  over  to  my 
place  about  every  other  day,  snoopin'  round  and  talking 
to  my  men." 

"They  do  that,  do  they?" 

"  Yes,  they  do  that." 

"  What  of  it?  "  demanded  Rafe.  "  They  can't  find 
out  anything,  can  they?  You  weren't  fool  enough  to 
let  on  to  your  men  —  your  foreman  or  anybody,  were 
you?" 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out          207 


"  Sure  not.     But " 

"  But  what?  " 

"  I  don't  like  'em  slouchin1  round  this  way.  You 
dunno  what'll  happen.  They  might  find  out  somethin' 
you  can't  tell." 

"  If  you  didn't  tell  any  of  your  men,  you're  safe," 
soothed  the  district  attorney,  "  so  long  as  you  keep 
your  upper  lip  stiff.  You're  just  a  li'l  nervous,  that's 
all,  Simon.  Nothing  to  worry  you  a-tall.  Here,  have 
another  drink.  Rafe,  shove  the  bottle  over,  will 
you?" 

Rafe  Tuckleton  pettishly  obeyed,  muttering  under 
his  breath.  It  was  only  too  painfully  obvious  that 
Reelfoot's  remarks  had  upset  him,  and  he  didn't  care 
who  knew  it. 

"  Look  here,  Simon,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  You 
wanna  leave  right  here  your  notion  that  you'll  snitch 
if  it  comes  to  the  squeak." 

"  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Simon,  setting  down  his 
glass  deliberately. 

"  Because,"  Rafe  continued,  as  though  there  had 
been  no  interruption,  "  you  wanna  remember  it's  almost 
as  easy  to  kill  two  men  as  it  is  one." 

"  I'd  thought  of  that,"  said  Simon,  "  and  I  brought 
two  of  my  men  with  me  to-night.  They're  down  at 
the  saloon  waiting  for  me  now." 

"  A  lot  of  good  they  are  down  there,"  sneered  Rafe. 

"  But  they  can  do  you  and  Arthur  here  a  lot  of  harm 
later  —  if  anything  happens." 

"  Don't  you  trust  us?" 

"  Not  so  far  as  I  can  throw  a  calf  by  the  tail,"  was 
the  candid  reply.  "  I'm  goin'  now.  You  fellers 


208        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

scratch  your  heads  over  what  IVe  said.  I  ain't  gonna 
go  to  the  pen  for  anybody,  and  you  can  stick  a  pin  in 
that." 

When  Simon  was  gone,  the  district  attorney  and 
Rafe  sat  in  silence  while  a  man,  had  one  been  so 
inclined,  might  have  counted  three  hundred.  Neither 
looked  at  the  other.  Rafe  fiddled  with  his  glass  on 
the  tabletop.  The  district  attorney  rolled  a  slow 
cigarette. 

The  district  attorney  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence 
with,  "  Simon's  got  a  bad  case  of  nerves." 

"  We  oughtn't  to  have  used  him,"  said  Rafe.  "  First 
thing  you  know  the  torn  fool  will  say  or  do  something 
we'll  all  be  sorry  for.  I  didn't  think  he  was  like  that.  " 

u  Maybe  we'd  ought  to  have  told  him  all  of  it  from 
the  beginning." 

"  Not  that.  No,  he'd  never  have  gone  in  it  then. 
He  ain't  got  nerve  enough.  I'm  afraid  Reelfoot's 
days  of  usefulness  to  us  are  over." 

"  He's  done  good  work  in  the  past." 

u  The  past  ain't  now.  And  I  tell  you,  Arthur,  if 
Simon  gets  any  more  jumpy  than  he  is  now,  he'll  kick 
the  kettle  over.  You  hear  me,  he'll  do  it,  the  pup!  " 

Rafe  allowed  the  district  attorney  two  full  minutes 
to  mull  over  this,  then  he  continued : 

"  We  gotta  get  rid  of  him." 

The  district  attorney  looked  over  at  Rafe,  his  upper 
lip  lifting.  "  I  suppose  we  gotta." 

;<  We'll  work  the  old  game  over  again." 

"  Not  on  your  life !  We  turned  it  once  !  And  that 
was  one  too  many." 

"  We  had  bad  luck,  that's  all.     Just  a  li'l  hard  luck. 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out          209 

Look  here,  didn't  Simon  say  either  Bill  or  one  of  his 
deputies  were  always  snooping  round  his  ranch  ?  All 
right,  what  more  do  we  want?  We  can  fix  it  so's  to 
get  rid  of  two  birds  at  a  clip.  And  it'll  work  this  trip. 
We'll  do  it  all  right." 

"  We'll  have  to."  The  district  attorney  smiled 
grimly. 

Rafe  Tuckleton  gazed  speculatively  upon  his  friend. 
"  How  about  Tip  O'Gorman?  " 

"Well?" 

Rafe  came  flatly  to  the  point.  "  How  about  gettin' 
rid  of  him,  too?  " 

But  this  was  going  too  fast  for  the  district  attorney. 
He  shook  his  head.  "  No.  Too  dangerous." 

<c  Now  look  here,"  said  Rafe,  leaning  forward  and 
tapping  the  district  attorney's  knee  with  a  persuasive 
forefinger,  "  you're  forgetting  that  all  this  trouble 
we're  having  is  due  to  Tip  O'Gorman.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  him  wanting  a  '  safe  '  man,  Jack  Murray 
would  have  been  elected,  and  everything  about  now 
would  be  fine  as  f  rawg's  hair  in  January." 

"  Well,  we  had  to  give  'em  one  honest  man,"  said 
the  district  attorney  cynically.  '  The  voters  were 
getting  ideas." 

uRats,"  snorted  Rafe.  "  What  if  they  were?  I 
don't  give  a  damn  what  Tip  or  anybody  says,  we  were 
strong  enough  to  elect  our  whole  ticket.  Huh?  No 
'  maybe  '  about  it.  I  know.  Tip's  an  old  woman,  I 
tell  you.  He's  gettin'  too  big  for  his  boots.  He  needs 
a  lesson." 

"  Who'll  give  him  one?" 

"  We  will." 


210        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  No.  Not  for  a  minute.  I  know  Tip.  I  ain't 
locking  horns  with  that  gent." 

"  Whatcha  afraid  of?     He  can't  do  anything." 

"  Can't,  huh?  Aw  right,  let  it  go  at  that.  Not 
any  for  me,  thanks." 

Again  Rafe's  persuasive  forefinger  came  into  action. 
"  Say,  Tip  ain't  any  grizzly  bear,  feller.  He's  only  a 
two-legged  maxn  like  you  and  me.  He  can  be  put  where 
he  belongs." 

The  district  attorney  remained  unconvinced.  "  I 
hear  you  say  it." 

"  Ain't  you  got  any  nerve  a-tall?  " 

"  Where  Tip  is  concerned,  not  much,"  was  the  frank 
reply.  "  I've  seen  that  man  in  action." 

"  Action  nothin'.  That's  just  what's  the  matter  with 
that  man  —  not  enough  action.  He'll  go  so  far  and 
no  farther.  He  don't  want  anybody  wiped  out  if  he 
can  help  it.  You  saw  what  a  fuss  he  made  over  Tom 
Walton's  killing.  Lord!  He  made  me  sick!  You  might 
'  a  '  thought  Tom  was  a  good  friend  of  his.  I  tell  you, 
Arthur,  that  sort  of  squeamishness  don't  get  you  any- 
where. Nawsir.  You  gotta  go  the  whole  hog  or 
you'll  wind  up  in  the  calaboose.  You  bet  I  ain't  for 
any  of  them  half-way  plans.  It's  kill  a  bull  every 
time,  or  I  don't  shoot.  Tip  O'Gorman  must  go." 

u  Lessee  what  Sam  Larder  and  Crafty  say,"  the 
district  attorney  offered  uneasily. 

"  No,  not  them,  either  of  'em,"  Rafe  declared  firmly. 
"  They're  friends  of  Tip's." 

"  You  tell  'em  just  like  you  told  me,"  suggested  the 
other.  u  Maybe  you  could  persuade  'em." 

Rafe  shook  a  decided  head.     "  Not  a  chance.     I 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out          211 

know  them.  They're  soft  and  bull-headed  where  Tip's 
concerned.  They  think  he's  hell  on  the  Wabash,  you 
know  that.  Those  three  stand  together  always.  No, 
Arthur,  if  we  shove  this  deal  through,  we  gotta  do  it 
alone. " 

But  the  district  attorney  remained  dubious.  l<  It's 
too  big  an  order." 

"  Not  by  a  jugful  it  ain't.    Gimme  the  bottle." 

Rafe  poured  out  a  stiff  four  fingers.  He  drank  it 
slowly.  Then  he  had  another.  His  eyes  began  to 
gleam  redly.  Suddenly  he  stood  up  and  struck  the 
table  with  his  fist. 

"  I'll  show  'em,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Tip  needn't  think 
he  can  gimme  orders!  Won't  let  you  ship  cows  if 
you  get  your  leg  over  the  pole  again,  says  O'Gorman, 
Larder  and  Craft.  Just  as  if  I'd  done  something  out 
of  the  way  instead  of  tryin'  to  put  one  more  polecat 
out  of  the  world.  I'll  show  'em !  Say,  Arthur,  whatsa 
matter  with  buckin'  Larder  and  Craft  after  we  put  Tip 
out  of  business?  " 

"  Wait  till  we  do,"  replied  the  district  attorney,  who 
foresaw  many  difficulties  in  the  proposed  operation. 
"  And  if  you  ask  me,  I  don't  know  how  we're  going  to 
do  it." 

Rafe  Tuckleton  scratched  a  tousled  head.  "  Jonesy 
might  shoot  him  cleaning'  his  gun,"  he  proffered. 

"  Why  don't  you  do  it  yourself?  " 

Rafe  showed  the  requisite  amount  of  contempt  for 
such  a  foolish  question.  "  It's  more'n  possible  Tip 
might  start  cleanin'  his  own  gun  about  that  time.  And 
I  could  spare  Jonesy  if  I  had  to." 


212         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Jonesy  might  not  want  to  take  the  chance.  You 
haven't  thought  of  that,  have  you?  " 

Rafe,  by  way  of  reply,  took  another  drink.  When 
he  set  the  bottle  down,  the  district  attorney  picked  it 
up,  held  it  against  the  daylight,  then  looked  reproach- 
fully at  his  friend  and  put  the  bottle  away  in  the  cup- 
board. 

"  Tell  you  what  we  can  do,"  said  Rafe.  "  We  can 
have  Simon  do  it." 

"  Simon  Reelfoot?" 

"Who  else.     Sure.     Why  not?" 

"  You're  crazy.  Simon  may  be  a  fool,  but  he  has 
more  sense  than  that." 

u  Simon  drinks  a  skinful  sometimes.  Ever  see  him 
when  he  gets  that  way?  He  acts  very  rowdy.  Yeah. 
I'm  almost  certain  if,  when  Simon  was  under  the  in- 
fluence thataway,  he  was  told  that  Tip  had  found  out 
about  his  share  in  the  Walton  killing  and  was  making 
threats  against  him,  that  Friend  Simon  would  just 
naturally  hop  out  and  fill  Tip  full  of  holes." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  saving  Simon  for  Wingo? 
The  sheriff's  more  important  than  Tip  just  now." 

It  was  evident  that  the  district  attorney  was  becom- 
ing more  and  more  worried  at  the  prospect  of  giving 
Tip  his  quietus. 

4  We'll  have  to  figure  out  something  else  for 
Wingo,"  said  Rafe.  Then  he  brought  his  open  palm 
down  on  his  knee  with  a  .crack  like  a  pistol  shot.  The 
district  attorney  jumped  in  his  chair.  "I  got  it!" 
cried  Rafe.  "  I  got  it!  It  just  came  to  me  when  you 
said  '  Wingo.'  We'll  get  the  three  of  'em  at  one  lick." 

"  I  knew  I  didn't  put  that  bottle  away  soon  enough." 


When  Thieves  Fall  Out          213 

"  Rats.  My  head's  clear  as  a  bell  —  two  bells,  by 
Gawd!  Listen.  We'll  get  Simon  and  that  foreman 
of  his  drunk.  We'll  sick  the  pair  of  'em  on  Tip  O'Gor- 
man.  They'll  put  the  kibosh  on  Tip,  and  the  word 
will  be  passed  for  the  sheriff.  He  will  go  to  make  the 
arrest  and  they'll  plug  him.  Being  drunk,  they'll  be 
desperate  and  won't  care  what  they  do." 

"  Suppose  the  deputies  go  with  Bill?  " 

"  We'll  have  to  fix  it  so  they  won't.  Oh,  it'll  be 
natural  this  time.  We'll  wait  till  they're  taking  some- 
body over  to  Hillsville,  or  gone  to  make  an  arrest  or 
something." 

"  But  the  sheriff  may  swear  in  a  posse  to  help  chase 


'em." 


"  There  won't  be  any  chase.  For  a  chase  you  gotta 
have  horses,  and  we'll  take  away  their  horses  first 
thing.  No,  it's  a  cinch  Bill  Wingo  will  go  to  arrest 
'em  by  his  lonesome.  He's  that  kind." 

"  And  we  took  him  for  a  mark,"  was  the  district 
attorney's  bitter  remark. 

"  I  didn't,"  lied  Rafe.     "  I  always  knowed  what  he 


was." 


The  district  attorney  did  not  contradict  this  state- 
ment. Nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  a  fight  with  Rafc 
Tuckleton. 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN 

THE    BEST-LAID    PLANS 

MARCH  had  come  in  a-roaring.  Almanac-wise  it 
was  passing  out  a-bleating.  Except  in  the  high  places 
the  snow  was  going  fast.  The  frost  was  coming  out 
of  the  ground,  making  it  necessary  for  the  Hillsville 
stage  to  employ  eight  horses  instead  of  six.  The  gray 
geese  were  flying  northward.  Here  and  there  on  the 
southern  flanks  of  the  lean  hills  the  grass  showed 
bravely  green.  That  uncomfortable  person,  Dan  Slike, 
was  well  enough  to  stand  his  trial.  Spring  was  in  the 
air,  but  winter  still  held  sway  in  the  heart  of  Billy 
Wingo.  He  had  not  been  able  to  make  up  his  difference 
with  Hazel  Walton,  or  rather  she  had  not  made  up 
her  difference  with  him.  Manlike,  or  mulelike,  which- 
ever you  prefer,  Billy  Wingo  was  stubbornly  deter- 
mined that  the  girl  should  make  the  first  move.  True, 
he  had  seen  her.  It  was  also  true  that  he  had  gone 
out  of  his  way  to  see  her.  Always  his  reception  had 
been  friendly,  but  not  the  least  cordial.  Obviously 
she  had  not  forgiven  him  his  outburst. 

Whenever  he  thought  on  what  he  was  pleased  to 
consider  his  ill-treatment  at  her  hands,  he  was  prone 
to  rail  at  the  foolishness  of  women.  He  did  not  stop 
to  reflect  that  there  was  another  side  to  the  shield. 
Certainly  not.  The  woman  was  clearly  and  wholly  in 


The  Best-Laid  Plans  215 

the  wrong.  Adam,  I  believe,  was  the  first  man  to  ex- 
press this  opinion.  His  sons  have  been  following  in 
his  footsteps  ever  since. 

Came  a  night  of  heavy  rain  and  wind.  Billy  Wingo, 
a  lamp  on  the  table  at  his  elbow,  was  reading  a  Denver 
newspaper.  A  sudden  gust  drove  a  spatter  of  rain 
across  the  windows.  There  was  a  soft  thump  followed 
by  a  sliding  sound  against  the  outside  door.  Some  one 
uttered  in  a  woman's  voice  a  muffled  wail. 

Billy  went  at  once  to  the  door  and  lifted  the  latch. 
The  wind  pushed  it  back  against  him  and  flung  a  spray 
of  wet  into  his  face.  There  was  something  lying  on 
the  doorstep  and  sill,  something  that  moved  a  little. 
Billy  let  the  door  fly  open.  The  something  was  ap- 
parently a  woman  in  distress.  Billy  bent  down,  en- 
deavoring to  slip  his  hands  under  her  shoulders.  But 
the  woman  was  heavy  and  her  clothing  was  very  wet 
and  slippery.  Billy  bent  a  Iktle  lower  and  —  Smash ! 

"  He's  coming  out  of  it,"  a  voice  was  saying. 
saw  his  eyelids  flicker." 

"  You  hit  him  a  mite  too  hard,"  declared  another 
voice.  "  Y'oughta  used  a  club  instead  of  that  wagon 
wrench." 

"  I  didn't  know  how  hard  his  head  was,"  offered  a 
third  voice,  "  and  we  can't  afford  to  take  chances. 
You  know  that.  Anybody,  he's  coming  along  all  right, 
so  what's  the  odds?  " 

"  He's  ruined  that  pillow,"  complained  the  first 
voice.  "  And  I  know  he's  bled  on  through  the  sheets 
into  the  mattress.  Spoil  the  mattress,  that  will.  Cake 
the  feathers  all  up.  Make  'em  nubbly." 


216        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Don't  be  so  dainty,  Sam,"  laughed  the  second 
voice.  u  You're  so  all-fired  fat  what's  a  rough  mattress 
to  you?  Sleep  on  the  floor,  and  you  wouldn't  know 
the  difference." 

Billy  kept  his  eyes  shut,  although  he  was  now  com- 
pletely conscious.  His  head  ached  like  forty.  Seemed 
as  if  the  whole  top  had  come  off  and  dozens  of  little 
devils  were  inside  hammering  like  mad.  He  believed 
he  knew  the  owners  of  those  three  voices.  Sam  Lar- 
der, Felix  Craft  and  Tip  O'Gorman.  He  opened  his 
eyes.  Yes,  he  was  right.  There  they  were,  the  three 
of  them.  But  it  was  daylight,  and  a  day  of  sunshine 
too.  And  the  last  thing  he  remembered  was  a  night 
of  wind  and  rain. 

Tip  gave  back  his  look  with  a  smile.  Sam  Larder 
and  Felix  Craft  did  not  smile.  Their  faces  were 
serious. 

"  Glad  to  see  you're  coming  round,"  said  Tip  O'Gor- 
man. "  Here,  let  me  fix  that  bandage.  Looks  as  if 
it  might  be  slipping.  How  you  feel  —  pretty  good?  " 

"  Pretty  good  —  considering,"  replied  Bill. 

"  That's  fine,  fine.    Want  a  li'l  something  to  eat?  " 

"  Rather  have  a  drink." 

The  cool  water  revived  him  like  wine.  He  lay  back 
on  the  pillows  greatly  refreshed.  He  thought  his  head 
ached  a  little  less,  perhaps. 

'  Where  am  I  and  how  did  I  get  here?  " 

"  You're  in  my  house,"  said  Sam  Larder.  u  You 
were  —  uh  —  brought  here." 

"  After  the  roof  feel  on  me?  "  said  Billy,  fingering 
the  bandage  round  his  head. 

'*  Well,  you  see,"  said  Tip,  in  some  embarrassment, 


The  Best-Laid  Plans  217 

"  we  knew  you  wouldn't  have  accepted  our  invitation 
unless  you  were  knocked 'silly  first.  But  I  —  I  planned 
the  whole  thing,  Bill  —  I  didn't  intend  to  keep  you 
senseless  as  long  as  this.  It's  a  matter  of  ten  hours 
since  you  were  hit.  I  didn't  know  but  what  maybe  we 
were  due  to  lose  you,  after  all." 

4  That  would  have  been  a  pity,"  said  Billy. 

"  Wouldn't  it?  Yeah.  Don't  blame  me  for  that 
crack,  though.  I  told  Crafty  not  to  use  anything  made 
of  iron.  But  I'm  afraid  he  used  his  own  judgment." 

"  I  always  do,"  said  Felix  Craft. 

"  Who  was  the  woman?  "  inquired  Billy. 

"  I  was  the  woman,"  replied  Craft  demurely. 

;<  That  was  one  on  me.  But  I'm  still  wonderin'. 
You  fellers  went  to  a  lot  of  trouble  to  carry  me  clear 
out  here.  I  suppose  it's  too  much  to  hope  you  were 
seen  doing  it." 

"  I  don't  guess  we  were  seen,"  said  Tip.  "  We  kind 
of  took  care  not  to  be. 

"  How  long  do  you  count  on  boardin'  me,  Sam?" 

"  Just  a  li'l  while,"  was  the  reply. 

"  No  longer  than  is  necessary,"  slipped  in  Tip,  with 
emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"  Necessary,  huh.  Necessary.  I  suppose  you  fellers 
think  you'll  be  able  to  get  Dan  Slike  off  by  kidnappin1 
me.  You  forget  there's  Riley  Tyler." 

"  We  know  there's  Riley  Tyler,"  said  Tip,  "  like 
we  know  Riley  and  Shotgun  went  to  Hillsville  yester- 
day and  won't  be  back  for  three-four  days.  And  about 
Dan  Slike  we  don't  care  three  whoops  in  hell.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  Bill,  I'm  surprised  you  don't  know 


218         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

us  better  than  that.  We  three  didn't  have  any  hand  in 
that  Walton  business." 

"  I  didn't  really  think  you  did,"  said  Billy  frankly, 
"  but  knowing  how  you  and  Tuckleton " 

"  No,  no,  Bill,"  interrupted  Tip  hastily,  u  don't  go 
fussin'  about  Rafe.  That's  a  cat  with  another  tail 
entirely.  Your  business  right  now  this  minute  is  with 
us.  Our  business  is  with  you.  Here  we  are.  Here's 
you." 

But  Billy  was  apparently  paying  no  further  attention 
to  Tip's  words.  He  was  looking  at  the  ceiling.  He 
was  smiling.  He  chuckled. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  glancing  sidewise  at  Tip, 
"  when  I  was  a  kid,  I  often  wondered  how  it  would 
feel  to  be  kidnapped.  I  had  a  idea  it  would  be  ro- 
mantic sort  of.  But  it  ain't,  not  a  mite.  I  feel  like 
I'd  been  on  a  tear  —  head,  y'understand,  and  mouth 
all  furry  and  thirsty!  Where's  that  pitcher?  Oh,  I 
can  sit  up  all  right." 

He  swung  up  to  a  sitting  position  with  a  lurch. 
"  Here's  how,"  he  said,  reaching  for  the  pitcher. 

He  drank  his  fill  and  again  lay  down,  supporting 
his  head  on  a  bent  elbow. 

"  Crafty,"  he  said  severely,  u  why  for  are  you  mon- 
keying with  that  gun?  " 

"  I  thought  I  had  it  hidden  behind  the  table,"  re- 
plied Craft,  shamefacedly  depositing  a  six-shooter  on 
the  table  in  front  of  him. 

He  folded  his  arms  behind  the  gun,  but  Billy  noticed 
that  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  were  touching  the 
wood  of  the  butt. 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  Tip,  "  that  we  intend  to  watch 


The  Best-Laid  Plans  219 

you  pretty  closely.     But  you  haven't  any  kick  coming. 
You  ain't  gagged  or  hogtied  even." 

"  Seeing  that  Sam's  house  is  a  mile  out  of  town  and 
a  good  eight  hundred  yards  west  of  the  Hillsville  trail, 
gaggin'  me  and  tying  me  up  are  hardly  necessary. 
Sam,  that  water  sure  gave  me  a  appetite.  I  feel  con- 
siderable better.  Suppose  now  you  send  along  the 
chambermaid  with  several  eggs,  more  or  less,  let  'em 
lay,  and  two-three-four  slices  of  nice  ham,  and  some 
fried  potatoes,  and  bread  and  butter,  and  a  li'l  jam  if 
you  have  it  —  if  not,  I'll  take  what  you've  got  handy 
and  some  coffee,  black,  with  sugar.  Better  have  her 
bring  a  full  pot  of  coffee.  And  Samuel,  my  own  dear 
boyhood  friend,  will  you  send  along  the  golden-haired 
chambermaid?  " 

u  That's  the  way,"  approved  Tip,  smiling,  as  Sam 
Larder  slumped  kitchenward.  "  Make  a  joke  of  it. 
No  sense  in  taking  it  to  heart." 

"  Tip,"  said  Bill,  "  I  always  knew  you  were  an  old 
scoundrel." 

Tip  looked  hurt.  "  The  scoundrel  perhaps,  and 
only  perhaps,  mind  you,  but  I  deny  the  age.  I'm  only 
a  short  fifty." 

"  Plenty  of  time  for  you  to  be  hung  yet,"  admitted 
Bill.  "  Felix,  old  settler,  that  gun  of  yours  is  pointing 
right  at  me.  Is  it  easy  on  the  trigger?  " 

"  Mighty  easy,"  said  Felix  Craft,  altering  slightly 
the  angle  of  the  weapon's  barrel. 

Billy  hitched  himself  up  to  a  sitting  position.  By 
means  of  the  bed's  two  pillows  he  made  himself  com- 
fortable against  the  wall. 


220        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  You  spoke  of  some  business,"   he   said.      "  Le's 

hear  it." 

Tip  cleared  his  throat.  "  It  ain't  much.  All  we 
want  is  for  you  to  leave  us  alone." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  asked  me  something  like  that  be- 
fore," mused  Billy. 

"  And  your  answer  was  unsatisfactory." 

"  What'kind  of  an  answer  did  you  expect?  " 

"  We  expected  you'd  be  a  sensible  man,  the  sort  of 
feller  who  wouldn't  throw  down  his  friends." 

"  You  said  that  before,  too." 

Tip  nodded.  "  We  still  think  maybe  you  can  be 
brought  to  see  our  side  of  it." 

"  We  don't  want  to  do  anything  we'd  all  be  sorry 
for,"  Felix  Craft  nipped  in  significantly. 

"  Hear  the  clanking  chains,"  said  Billy.  4  The 
man's  threatening  me,  I  do  believe." 

Craft  returned  his  stare  woodenly. 

"  You  see,"  Tip  remarked,  "  we  expect  to  do  a  li'l 
business  this  year." 

"  Do  you  think  this  will  be  a  good  year  for  busi- 
ness? "  Billy  cocked  a  questioning  eyebrow. 

"  We  hope  so,  we  hope  so,"  pronounced  Tip.  "  I'll 
be  open  with  you,  Bill.  If  you  keep  on  nosing  into  our 
affairs  the  way  you've  started  in,  we'll  lose  money. 
Couldn't  help  but  lose  it.  You  didn't  take  office  till 
the  first  of  January  and  business  won't  be  done  in  any 
volume  till  well  into  the  year " 

*  When  the  ground  is  hard,"  interrupted  Billy, 
"  and  the  volume  of  business  won't  be  apt  to  leave 
telltale  tracks.  I  get  the  innards  of  your  meaning." 

"  Exactly.     So  you  see  how  absolutely  necessary  it 


The  Best- Laid  Plans  221 

is  for  us  to  be  sure  that  you  won't  horn  into  any  of 
our  li'l  deals." 

"  We  intend  to  be  sure,"  declared  Craft. 

"  Tip,"  said  Billy,  "  that  man  is  threatening  me 
again.  You  stop  him.  He  makes  me  nervous.  Some- 
times I  almost  think  he  means  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  he  does  mean  it,"  said  Tip.  "I  — 
we  don't  want  to  do  you  any  harm,  Bill,  physically  or 
otherwise.  You  understand,  that,  don't  you?  " 

"  Seein'  that  you  keep  on  tellin'  me  so  over  and 
over,  I'll  try  and  believe  it.  But  what  I  want  to  know 
is  if  you  decide  finally  to  do  me  harm,  physically  or 
otherwise,  what  kind  of  harm  you'll  do.  Will  you 
drop  me  over  the  cliff  on  a  dark  and  moonlight  night 
and  dash  my  quiverin'  body  to  death  on  the  cruel  rocks 
below,  or  will  you  slip  a  li'l  wolf  poison  into  my  morn- 
ing coffee,  or  will  you  just  cut  my  throat  or  what?  I'd 
like  to  know.  Honest,  I  would.  My  curiosity  is 
standin'  on  its  hind  legs." 

"  It's  no  joke,"  Tip  told  him  seriously. 

"  Of  course  it  ain't.  Who  said  it  was.  Not  rue. 
I'm  serious  as  lead  in  your  lung.  Likewise  I'm  scared 
to  death.  If  I  was  standin'  up  you'd  hear  my  knees 
clacking  together.  Not  to  disappoint  you  I'll  shake 
the  bed.  There!  How's  that?" 

He  grinned  at  them  disarmingly.  They  did  not  re- 
turn the  grin. 

"  Might  as  well  tell  him  now,"  suggested  Craft. 

Tip  nodded.  "  I  was  going  to.  Bill,  you  left  your 
office  in  Golden  Bar  last  night."  He  paused,  looking 
up  at  the  ceiling. 

"  You  needn't  try  to  make  me  think  you're  making 


222         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

it  up  as  you  go  along,"  Billy  fleered  with  a  wink.     "  I 
know  better.     Flap  along,  flap  along." 

44  You  took  your  rifle  with  you  and  both  your  guns," 
resumed  Tip.  "  You  went  to  the  stable  and  saddled 
your  red-and-white  pinto  and  rode  out  of  town." 

44  Right  down  Main  Street,  I  suppose,  where  every- 
body could  see  me?  " 

44  Nothing  so  coarse  as  that.  You  were  careful  to 
strike  the  shelter  of  the  cottonwoods  that  grow  so 
close  to  the  rear  of  your  corral." 

Bill's  eyes  widened  with  well-feigned  enjoyment.  He 
was  reasonably  sure  he  knew  what  was  coming.  "  I'llj 
bet  somebody  saw  me,  alia  same." 

44  Several  people  saw  you,  saw  you  so  plainly  that 
they  could  swear  to  your  identity  on  the  witness  stand." 

Billy  leaned  forward  interestedly.  "  They  could,  but 
would  they?" 

44  All  five  of  'em  would." 

44  Five,  huh?  Don't  you  think  that's  a  good  many 
folks  to  have  on  hand  so  providentially,  a  night  like 
last  night?  Raining  and  blowing  for  Gawd's  sake,  re- 
member? You  don't  want  to  override  this  thing  — 
whatever  it  is." 

Felix  Craft  laughed  sardonically.  4t  We  won't. 
Don't  you  worry  any  about  that,  Bill.  We've  thought 
it  out  pretty  average  careful." 

4  That's  good.  I'd  be  sorry  to  see  you  fellers  make 
any  mistakes.  Go'n,  Tippy,  old  settler.  You've  got 
to  where  me  and  my  gallant  steed  are  a-skulking  in 
the  underbrush  with  half  the  town  watching  us  like 
lynxes.  What  did  I  do  next?" 

4  You  haven't  done  it  yet.     And  whether  you  do 


The  Best-Laid  Plans  223 

it  or  not  all  depends  on  yourself.  If  you  stay  stub- 
born, then  this  afternoon  you'll  hold  up  the  Hillsville 
stage." 

"  Don't  lemme  forget  myself  too  much.  Will  I 
wear  a  mask?  " 

"  Naturally  —  and  your  horse  will  be  seen,  your 
red-and-white  pinto  that  everybody  knows.  It's  some- 
thing like  the  trick  you  worked  on  Driver  and  Slike. 
We  listened  very  careful  to  your  testimony  at  the  hear- 
ing. We're  grateful  to  you  for  the  idea,  Bill." 

Bill  tossed  away  all  credit  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 
"  Oh,  you  clever  fellers  would  have  thought  of  some- 
thing just  as  good.  Trust  you.  Next." 

"  Everybody  on  the  stage  will  be  able  to  swear  to 
your  clothes  and  your  horse  and  your  guns.  One  of 
your  guns  has  a  brass  guard.  That  gun  especially  will 
be  remembered." 

"  You  do  think  of  everything,"  Bill  said  in  admira- 
tion. "  But  does  it  sound  natural  that  I'd  be  using 
my  horse,  especially  such  a  conspicuous-lookin'  horse 
as  that  red-and-white  pinto,  right  where  everybody  in 
the  stage  could  see  him?  Even  if  I  am  crazy  enough 
to  hold  up  the  stage,  you've  gotta  give  me  credit  for 
a  li'l  sense." 

"  I  said  there  wouldn't  be  any  coarse  work,"  averred 
Tip.  "  Your  horse  will  be  tied  in  a  li'l  patch  of 
woods  put  of  sight  of  the  stage,  but  just  about  the  time 
you're  lining  the  passengers  up  on  the  trail,  your 
horse  will  bust  out  of  the  li'l  patch  of  woods  and  show 
himself  plain  for  everybody  to  take  a  look  at." 

"  Somebody  will  have  to  drive  him  out.  Suppose 
he's  seen,  too?  " 


224        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Tip  shook  a  lazy  head.  "  Not  him.  He  won't  be 
seen.  It  will  all  look  mighty  natural  like  an  accident. 
Somethin'  scared  the  horse,  that's  all." 

"  After  I've  robbed  the  stage  what  do  I  do?" 

"  There  you  have  me,"  confessed  Tip.  "  I  don't 
know  what  you'll  do.  You  might  ride  away  and  keep 
going  for  several  weeks.  That  would  be  the  sensible 
thing  to  do." 

u  Or  I  can  ride  back  to  Golden  Bar  and  be  arrested 
by  my  own  deputies  for  stage  robbery.  I  don't  suppose 
anybody  would  believe  it  if  I  said  I  was  kidnapped." 

Tip  smiled  slightly.  "  They  might.  You  never 
can  tell  what  people  would  believe." 

Billy  drew  his  knees  up  to  the  level  of  his  chin 
and  hugged  them. 

"  No,"  he  drawled,  "  too  fishy.  Folks  don't  kidnap 
folks  nowadays  —  only  in  books.  Shucks,  I'll  bet  you 
fellers  were  counting  on  just  that  particular  snag  in 
human  nature.  Looks  like  you've  got  me,  don't  it?  " 

Tip  nodded  his  head.     "  Looks  like  it." 

"  You've  only  got  yourself  to  blame,"  said  Felix 
Craft,  studying  the  gun  on  the  table  so  handy  to  his 
fingers. 

4  True,"  acquiesced  Billy.  "  I've  only  got  myself 
to  blame.  So  what  care  I  for  poverty  or  precious 
stones?  Look  here,  fellow  citizens,  who  is  going  to 
take  my  part  in  this  stage  hold-up?  " 

"  I  will,"  said  Craft  modestly.  "  I  rode  your  pinto 
out  of  town  last  night,  and  I  think  I  made  a  good  im- 
pression. Yeah,  I'm  sure  I  did.  And  I  have  more 
than  a  sneaking  idea  I  can  get  away  with  the  hold- 
up." 


The  Best-Laid  Plans  225 

"  Don't  doubt  it,"  said  Billy.  "  Don't  doubt  it  for 
a  minute.  YouVe  got  nerve  enough,  I  know  that, 
and  we're  about  of  a  size.  I  —  uh  —  I  thought  there 
was  something  familiar  about  that  vest  you're  wearing. 
And  are  those  my  other  pants  you  have  on?  The  table 
hides  'em  so  I  can't  tell  for  sure." 

"  They  are  your  other  pants,  and  your  coat  and 
hat  are  hanging  on  a  hook  in  the  kitchen.  I  had  to 
put  your  spurs  on  my  boots  though.  Yours  were  too 
small." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  mourned  Billy,  genuine  concern 
in  his  tone.  "  If  I'd  only  known  —  However,  suppose 
some  one  in  the  stage  puts  a  hole  in  your  face  right 
over  the  eye,  Felix.  Have  you  thought  of  that?  " 

Craft  nodded.     "  We  have  to  take  some  chances." 

"  That's  so.  You've  got  a  sporting  spirit  after  all, 
Crafty.  You'd  think  running  a  gambling  house  so  long 
would  have  taken  it  out  of  you,  sort  of.  Might  be  your 
ranch  has  saved  you.  And  suppose  I  don't  feel  like 
having  you  risk  your  valuable  life,  Crafty,  what  then?  " 

"  Then  the  deal  can  be  arranged,"  Tip  answered 
for  Craft.  "  Give  us  your  word  Bill,  and  you  can 
walk  out  that  door  and  ride  back  to  Golden  Bar  right 
after  breakfast.  Right  now,  if  you  don't  want  to 
wait." 

Billy  looked  incredulous.  "  You  mean  to  tell  me, 
Tip,  that  you'd  take  my  bare  word?" 

u  You're  whistling  we  would,"  Tip  declared  heartily. 
"  Everybody  knows  your  word  is  good." 

"  I've  never  broken  it  yet,  but  don't  you  see,  once 
broken,  what  good  is  it?  " 


226        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  But  if  you  give  it,  you  wouldn't  break  it.  We 
know  you." 

"  But  if  I  give  my  word  to  you  to  do  this  thing,  I 
will  have  broken  it  —  to  the  territory.  When  I  took 
office  I  made  oath  to  obey  and  uphold  the  laws.  I 
guess  maybe  you  forgot  that." 

Tip  looked  a  trifle  dashed.     "  Well  —  "  he  began. 

"  You  see,"  interrupted  Billy,  "  If  I  broke  my  word 
to  the  territory,  I'd  break  it  to  you  likely.  Anyway, 
what  guarantee  have  you  that  I  wouldn't?  " 

"  Looks  like  there  was  only  one  trail  out,"  Craft 
said  briefly. 

"  Gimme  something  to  eat  first,"  Billy  implored, 
rubbing  his  empty  stomach. 

"  We'll  do  that  much  for  you,"  said  Tip.  "  And 
while  you're  eatin'  you  think  it  over.  There's  a  lot 
to  be  said  for  what  we  want  you  to  do.  Think  how 
easy  it  is,  Bill.  Just  go  a  li'l  slow  is  all  we  want.  And 
think  what  you  get  by  it  —  complete  freedom  other- 
wise and  that  ten  thousand  a  year  easy  money  we  spoke 
of  a  while  back.  Ten  thousand  ain't  to  be  sneezed  at 
these  days.  I  dunno  where  you'd  make  it  any  easier." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  Billy  admitted  frankly. 

4  You  don't  want  to  go  to  jail  now,  do  you,  Bill?  " 
wheedled  Tip. 

"  Sure  not,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  And  if  you  decide  to  accept 
our  offer,  Bill,  the  secret  will  be  left  behind  right  in 
this  room.  No  one  will  ever  know  anything  about  it. 
To  your  friends  you  will  be  one  of  the  straightest 
sheriffs  Crocker  County  ever  had.  Oh,  I  know  what 


The  Best-Laid  Plans  227 

you're  thinking  of.  You're  afraid  of  what  Hazel  Wal- 
ton might  think.  But " 

44  Let's  leave  her  out  of  this,"  Bill  struck  in  sharply. 

"All  right,"  acquiesced  Tip,  with  a  slight  cough, 
"  we  will.  Alia  same,  Bill,  who's  to  ever  know  what 
you  did?" 

"  I'd  know  for  one,"  Billy  observed  simply.  "  And 
suppose  I  tell  somebody?  You  know  I  never  could 
keep  a  secret." 

"  I  told  you  how  it  would  be,  Tip,"  remarked  Craft. 
"  He's  too  damn  honest  for  any  use." 

Billy  nodded  his  gratitude.  "  Felix,  I  thank  you. 
At  least  you  are  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  You  forget  me,"  said  the  disappointed  Tip.  "  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  the  ground-and-lofty  talking  done 
by  yours  truly,  you,  William,  would  have  already  gone 
where  the  good  Indians  go.  I  can  tell  you,  Felix  and 
Sam  are  downright  disgruntled  with  you." 

44  Felix,  I  take  it  all  back,"  grieved  Billy.  44  At  the 
first  convenient  opportunity  I  shall  drop  a  li'l  arsenic 
in  your  coffee  or  a  li'l  lead  pill  in  your  system.  I 
dunno  which  yet.  And  that  goes  for  you  too,  Sam." 

44  What's  that?  "  queried  Sam,  entering  with  a  large 
platter  of  ham,  eggs  and  potatoes  and  setting  it  down 
on  the  table.  When  Bill  had  explained,  he  smiled 
grimly.  44  Yep,"  said  Sam  Larder.  4l  You've  been  a 
thorn  in  our  well-known  side  for  some  time.  Trim- 
ming you  off  the  parent  stem  would  do  you  —  and  us 
—  a  heap  of  good." 

44 1  see,"  remarked  Billy,  sliding  from  the  bed  and 
hooking  up  a  chair  to  the  table,  44 1  see  that  the  patient 
is  not  yet  out  of  danger.  But  the  doctors  have  not 


228        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

completely  despaired  of  his  life.     How  about  it,  Tip? 

You  haven't  given  me  up  yet,  have  you?  " 
"  Bill,"  said  Tip  irritably,  "  you're  a  fool." 
"  But  not  a  damn  fool,"  returned  Bill  with  his  mouth 

full.     u  You'll  have  to  admit  there  is  a  method  in  my 

madness." 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

OBSCURING  THE  ISSUE 

"  WELL,"  said  Felix  Craft,  attempting  a  pleasantry, 
"  how  do  Hook?" 

"  You  look,"  said  Billy,  following  a  meticulous  sur- 
vey of  his  questioner's  attire,  "  you  look  like  Mr.  Felix 
Craft,  our  genial  gambler  and  non-resident  ranch 
owner." 

"  Shucks,  I  was  hoping  I'd  look  like  you.  I'd  sure 
enjoy  making  a  good  appearance.  Maybe  the  mask 
will  make  a  difference." 

"  Mask  won't  disguise  your  voice  any." 

"  I'll  talk  like  I  had  a  cold.  Oh,  I  won't  have  any 
trouble  making  folks  think  it's  you." 

Felix  Craft  spoke  with  tremendous  confidence. 
More  than  the  occasion  warranted,  thought  Billy 
Wingo. 

"  Why  don't  you  wear  my  star?"  suggested  Bill. 
"  Then  folks  would  sure  think  it  was  me." 

"  Too  raw,  and  you  know  it.  Even  you  wouldn't 
do  a  fool  thing  like  that." 

"Thanks  for  the  compliment,"  Billy  said  humbly. 
"  Suppose  now  you  get  plugged,  Felix?  " 

"  I  won't  get  plugged.  Not  me,"  declared  Craft, 
pulling  the  six-shooter  with  the  brass  trigger  guard 
and  making  sure  that  the  hammer  rested  on  an  empty 
chamber. 


230        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  What  makes  you  think  you  won't  be  plugged?  " 
persisted  Billy. 

Craft  darted  a  quick  look  at  his  questioner.  "  Be- 
cause I  know  I  won't.  I'll  have  the  drop  on  'em,  don't 
you  see?  Nobody  will  dare  cut  down  on  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  they  won't?  " 

"  I'm  sure,  that's  all." 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure?  " 

"  Because  I  am,  that's  why !  "  was  the  snappish  re- 
ply. Then  in  a  pleasanter  tone  Craft  continued,  "  Be- 
cause, Bill,  I've  figured  out  my  chances  carefully.  Not 
once  in  a  thousand  times  do  stage  passengers  resist 
a  road  agent." 

"  How  about  the  Wells-Fargo  guard?  " 

"  He  ain't  riding  this  trip." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  ain't?  " 

"  Now  don't  you  worry  how  we  know,  Bill.  We 
know,  and  you  can  bet  on  that.  It's  like  I  told  you, 
we've  figured  this  thing  out  to  the  last  li'l  detail. 
We " 

"  You  bet  we  have,"  cut  in  Tip  quickly.  "  For  the 
last  time,  Bill,  hadn't  you  better  change  your  mind?  " 

"  I  couldn't  change  it  for  the  last  time  till  I'd 
changed  it  at  least  two  other  times,  Tip,"  Billy 
drawled,  one-half  his  brain  busy  trying  to  fathom  why 
Tip  should  have  interrupted  Craft  so  brusquely.  Tip 
never  did  anything  without  reason.  Never.  And  why 
was  Craft  so  unnaturally  sure  that  he  could  hold  up 
the  stage  without  being  shot?  Unnaturally,  exactly. 
Because  Felix  Craft  was  one  not  given  to  explaining 
anything  he  did.  Yet  in  this  instance  he  had  taken 
the  trouble  to  explain  at  some  length.  Why? 


Obscuring  the  Issue  231 

Billy  tilted  back  on  the  rear  legs  of  his  chair,  cocked 
his  heels  up  on  the  table  and  stared  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Well,  how  about  it?  "  Tip  demanded  impatiently. 
"  You  going  to  be  sensible?  " 

Billy  waved  a  hand  for  silence  and  then  sang  in  a 
whining  bobtail  bass: 

"Barney    Bodkin    broke   his   nose: 

Want  of  money  makes  us  sad  ; 
Without  feet  we  can't  have  toes; 

Crazy  folks  are  always  mad  ; 
A  nickel  candle's  very  small  ; 

Many  fiddlers  can't  play  jigs; 
One  that's  dumb  can  never  bawl ; 

Pickled  pork  is  made  of  pigs. 

"  Ain't  that  a  nice  song?  "  Billy  broke  off,  glancing 
round  him  for  praise.  "  Lot  of  truth  in  that  song, 
too.  Especially  that  part  about  crazy  folks.  They 
always  are  mad  —  like  you  and  Felix,  Tip,  and  our 
fat  friend,  Mr.  Samuel  Larder.  Why  all  the  delay, 
Felix?  If  you  really  are  gonna  to  be  a  bold  bad  man, 
go'n  and  be  one.  Don't  dally  round  here  any  longer. 
Suppose  you  miss  the  stage?  You'd  be  disappointed. 
So  would  I.  Because  I  don't  want  anything  to  prevent 
you  from  having  a  fair  crack  at  it.  I'd  like  you  to 
have  every  chance  —  but  I  forgot,  you  ain't  taking  any 
chances,  are  you?  This  is  a  sure  thing." 

Billy,  through  half-shut  eyes,  was  watching  the  men 
he  was  talking  to.  He  was  watching  Sam  Larder  espe- 
cially. For  Sam  was  not  a  good  poker  player.  Never 
had  been.  His  plump  features  were  too  expressive. 
And  now  the  open-faced  Sam  was  looking  at  Billy  with 
a  slightly  worried  expression.  Furthermore,  the  worry 


232        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

was  tinged  with  some  astonishment.  At  least,  so  it 
seemed  to  Billy.  Again  why? 

Here  were  three  men,  each  of  whom  within  five 
minutes  had  done  that  which  was  not  wholly  warranted 
by  the  apparent  facts.  He  again  had  cropped  up  and 
out  those  unnatural  circumstances  so  ably  dwelt  upon 
by  Mr.  William  Noy.  As  has  been  said,  the  law  abhors 
such  things  and  seeks  a  remedy.  There  is  always  a 
remedy;  and  investigation,  patient  and  thorough,  will 
always  find  it.  Billy  rather  prided  himself  on  being 
a  patient  and  thorough  investigator. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  fail  to  realize  that  he  was 
in  a  tight  hole.  He  felt  the  pinch  already.  So  he 
smiled  at  the  three  men  his  sunniest  smile. 

u  Looks  like  a  wild  night  on  the  canal, "  he  said 
calmly.  "  I  expect  the  mules  are  pinning  back  their 
ears.  Yeah.  Going,  Crafty?  Well,  be  good  and  — 
oh,  say,  Crafty,  ain't  Jerry  Fern  the  stage  driver 
this  trip?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  short  reply. 

"  But  you  knew  everything  else,"  complained  Billy, 
making  a  mental  note  of  another  unnatural  circum- 
stance. "  Seems  like  you'd  oughta  know  this,  too." 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  Craft  tossed  back  over  his  shoul- 
der, as  he  flung  out  of  the  house. 

The  door  slammed.  Billy  looked  at  Sam  Larder 
and  grinned.  "  If  this  is  Jerry  Fern's  trip,  and  I'm 
most  sure  it  is,  Felix  will  be  out  of  luck.  Jerry  is 
one  stage  driver  who  will  always  give  a  bandit  a  battle." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  Crafty  will  get  the  drop  on  him  all 
right,"  Sam  Larder  averred  easily,  —  too  easily  by 
half. 


Obscuring  the  Issue  233 

"  I  can  see,"  said  Billy  with  strange  placidity,  "  I 
can  see  that  I've  got  to  get  out  of  here." 

Both  Sam  and  Tip  laughed,  —  Tip  heartily,  Sam 
with  a  false  note. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  resumed  Billy,  "  I've  got  my 
choice  of  hitting  the  trail  or  being  arrested." 

Tip  shook  his  head.  "  You  haven't  any  choice  — 
none." 

uHuh?"    Surprisedly. 

"  Yeah.  You  see,  we  talked  it  over  again  while  you 
were  asleep  a  while  back,  and  we  decided  if  you 
couldn't  see  our  way  of  it  and  be  sensible  like  we  want, 
that  we'd  better  just  put  you  where  you  wont  be  mis- 
laid. Givin'  you  your  choice  of  ridin'  away  or  bein1 
arrested  like  I  said  at  first  would  be  a  bad  move.  If 
you  chose  to  hit  the  trail  —  You're  a  sport  with  ideas, 
Bill,  and  you  might  think  up  one  to  put  the  kybosh 
on  us.  But  if  you're  in  jail,  your  ideas  won't  help  you 
much.  See?  " 

"  I  see  I  ain't  gonna  get  a  chance  for  my  alley  a-tall. 
Who'll  arrest  me  —  my  own  deputies?  " 

"  No,  we'll  do  that.  Here's  the  story:  Your  horse 
gave  out  and  Sam  caught  you  trying  to  rustle  a  pony 
out  of  his  corral.  Sam  threw  down  on  you,  held  you 
up  and  when  we,  Sam,  Crafty  and  I,  y'understand 
searched  you,  we  found  on  you  a  couple  of  pocket- 
books  and  Jerry  Fern's  watch.  See?  " 

"  I  see,  all  right.  I  see  you  haven't  been  quite  open 
with  our  friend  Mr.  Craft." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out?  '1 

Billy  hunched  his  shoulders.  He  was  observing  the 
marked  unease  that  spread  upon  the  countenance  of 


234        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Sam  Larder.     Tip  was  forced  to  repeat  his  question. 

Billy  gazed  at  him  vacantly.  "  Huh?  How  —  uh 
— oh,  you  want  to  know  how,  do  you?  Is  that  it? 
Yeah.  Well,  Til  tell  you.  Here  you  knew  alia  time 
that  Jerry  Fern  was  going  to  drive  the  stage  this  trip 
and  yet  you  didn't  tell  Crafty.  He  didn't  know  who 
was  the  driver  when  I  asked  him,  remember?  You 
should  have  told  him,  Tip.  Skin  game  not  to." 

Tip  laughed.  Was  the  laughter  forced?  Billy 
thought  it  sounded  as  if  it  were.  But  he  couldn't  be 
sure.  Not  with  Tip  O'Gorman.  For  Tip  was  a  good 
poker  player.  Still 

Billy  wagged  a  forefinger  at  Tip.  u  Why  didn't  you 
tell  Crafty,  you  careless  child?" 

"  Crafty  knew,  all  right,"  Tip  stated.  "  He  was 
just  joking  with  you,  I  guess." 

"  I  guess  so  too,"  drawled  Billy  Wingo.     "  I  guess 


so  too." 


He  stood  up  and  started  to  walk  casually  toward 
the  door. 

"  That  will  be  about  far  enough,"  said  Tip. 

Billy's  hands  fell  away  from  the  latch.     "  If  that 
gun  goes  off,  it'll  make  a  fine  mess  on  the  floor." 

4  You  come  back  and  sit  on  the  bed  again,"  directed 
Tip,  the  six-shooter  trained  unwaveringly  on  the  cap- 
tive's abdomen.  "  Of  course,"  he  added,  "  you  might 
try  the  windows.  But  even  if  I  didn't  drill  you  three 
times  where  you  live  while  you  were  doing  it,  you  can't 
wiggle  through  those  windows.  Your  shoulders  are 
too  broad  and  the  sashes  are  too  narrow.  That's  why 
we  picked  this  room.  Only  one  in  the  house  with  small 
windows." 


Obscuring  the  Issue  235 

"  Fd  noticed  that/'  said  Billy,  returning  to  the  bed. 
"  How  about  a  drink,  Tip?  I'm  thirsty." 

"  Sam  will  get  you  a  drink,"  said  Tip. 

Billy  smiled.  "  Why  not  you?  Can't  you  trust  me 
with  Sam?  Think  I'll  corrupt  his  morals  or  some- 
thing?" 

u  There's  no  telling  what  you'll  do,  Bill,  and  as  I 
may  have  told  you  once  or  twice  we  can't  afford  to 
take  any  chances." 

"  When  am  I  going  to  be  arrested  for  rustling  one 
of  Sam's  horses?  " 

"  Soon  after  Crafty  gets  here." 

Billy's  face  assumed  a  peevish  expression.  "  Say, 
look  here,  Tip,  I  don't  just  cotton  to  the  idea  of 
havin'  Sam  the  one  to  throw  down  on  me  and  hold  me 
up.  I've  got  my  pride,  such  as  it  is,  and  I'd  hate  for 
folks  to  go  round  blatting  that  a  slow-pulling  sport 
like  Sam  Larder  held  me  up.  Can't  you  make  it  your- 
self, Tip?  You've  got  a  reputation.  I  dunno  that 
I'd  feel  so  bad  about  it  if  it  was  you." 

"  Shucks,  Bill,  you're  too  sensitive.  I'm  afraid  we'll 
have  to  let  the  scheme  go  through  as  it  lays.  I  don't 
believe  in  changing  any  part  of  a  plan  once  I've 
started  to  carry  it  out." 

"  There's  something  in  that,"  admitted  Billy.  "  I'm 
a  li'l  superstitious  that  way  myself.  Ain't  Sam  taking  a 
goshawful  time  to  that  drink?  Maybe  you  better  step 
out  and  look  for  him." 

Tip  grinned.     "  I  hear  him  comin'  now." 

"  Sam,"  said  Billy,  when  the  owner  of  the  house 
appeared  with  the  drink,  "  Sam,  how  about  a  li'l  hot 
something  to  eat?  I  know  it's  only  the  shank  of  the 


236        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

afternoon,  but  I'm  hungry  and  I  probably  have  a  long 
hard  night  ahead  of  me." 

"  You  have,  all  right,"  concurred  Sam.  u  All  your 
own  fault,  too.  But  I  expect  you  know  what's  best." 

Sam  eased  his  fat  self  into  a  chair  and  began  to 
construct  a  cigarette. 

Billy  elevated  his  eyebrows.  "  Say.  I  thought  I 
asked  you  for  something  to  eat?  " 

Sam  ran  his  tongue  along  the  side  of  the  cigarette. 
"  I  heard  you,  but  I  don't  cook  a  thing  till  supper. 
That's  flat.  I  been  in  and  out  of  that  kitchen  all  day, 
and  I've  got  enough,  you  bet  you." 

"  You  don't  have  to  cook  anythin'  yourself.  Let 
your  cook  do  it." 

"  I  let  him  go  to  town  for  the  day." 

"  I  don't  s'pose  you  could  persuade  one  of  your 
boys  to  throw  a  li'l  bite  together  for  me,  now,  could 
you?" 

Sam  shook  a  decided  head.  "  I  couldn't,  Bill. 
There  ain't  a  boy  on  the  place.  I  sent  them  all  down 
on  the  Wagonjack  to  fence  off  a  quicksand." 

Billy  closed  his  eyes  to  conceal  the  satisfaction  in 
their  depths.  Not  a  man  on  the  place!  Which  was 
just  what  he  had  been  working  to  find  out.  But  the 
odds  were  still  two  to  one,  and  an  armed  two  to  a 
weaponless  one  at  that.  When  Craft  returned,  they 
would  be  three  to  one,  provided  Billy  still  was  a 
prisoner. 

He  surveyed  his  captors  through  drop-lidded  eyes. 
Sam  Larder  was  looking  out  of  the  window.  But  Tip 
was  on  the  alert,  even  as  he  had  been  from  the  be- 
ginning. And  Billy  knew  well  that  Tip  would  not  hesi- 


Obscuring  the  Issue  237 

tate  to  shoot.     Most  decidedly  the  future  did  not  look 
bright  and  shining.    But  Billy's  was  a  confident  nature. 
•'  What's  that?  "  queried  Tip. 

4  What  do  —  oh,  that !  Simon  says  'thumbs  up,' 
you  mean  ?  It  doesn't  mean  anythin'  serious,  Tip.  Just 
another  way  of  saying,  c  Faint  heart  never  won  a  bet 
in  its  life'  and  '  It's  always  darkest  'round  midnight.' 
Don't  mind  if  I  take  a  snooze,  do  you,  Tippy,  old 
boy?" 

Billy  rolled  over  on  his  stomach,  rammed  his  head 
into  the  pillow  and  completely  relaxed  his  body,  but, 
although  his  breathing  soon  became  deceptively  reg- 
ular, he  was  far  from  being  asleep.  He  was  thinking 
as  purposefully  as  ever  he  had  in  his  life.  He  had  to 
escape.  He  had  to!  To  permit  his  enemies  to  do  this 
thing  was  intolerable.  There  was  a  way  out.  Every 
strait,  no  matter  how  close  and  awkward  it  may  be, 
has  its  way  out. 

He  built  many  plans  while  he  lay  there.  But  there 
was  a  flaw  in  each  and  every  one  of  them.  His  brain 
was  still  feverishly  busy  when  Felix  Craft  returned 
about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 

As  the  door  opened  and  Craft  entered,  Billy  sat  up. 
"  Have  a  nice  time?  "  he  drawled. 

"  Went  through  like  clockwork,"  replied  Craft, 
slumping  into  a  chair  beside  the  table. 

"  Not  even  a  li'l  teeny-weeny  hole  in  you  any- 
where? "  Billy  demanded  hopefully.  "  Hell,  I  shore 
had  a  better  opinion  of  Jerry  Fern  than  that." 

"Jerry  didn't  do  any  fightin'  to-day,"  said  Felix. 
"  Handed  over  his  watch  like  a  major." 

"  Yeah,  Tip  said  you'd  take  his  watch.     Funny  you 


238        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

didn't  know  Jerry  Fern  was  driving  this  trip  when  I 
asked  you.  Tip  knew." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  all  right,"  Craft  said  carelessly. 
"  Lord  A'mighty,  I'm  hungry.  My  stomach  is  stick- 
ing to  my  backbone  closer  than  a  postage  stamp  to  a 
letter.  I  ain't  had  a  thing  to  eat  since  breakfast.  Got 
any  more  eggs  and  ham,  Sam?  " 

u  If  you  want  anything  to  eat,  you  can  cook  it  your- 
self," said  Sam.  "  It's  like  I  told  Bill  here,  I  ain't 
goin'  into  that  kitchen  till  suppertime." 

"  That's  always  the  way,"  grumbled  Craft,  kicking 
his  chair  back.  "  Here  I  ride  from  hell  to  breakfast 
and  back  —  and  I  wanna  say  again  that  having  that 
hold-up  fifteen  miles  from  here  was  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  Just  as  well  have  had  it  two  or  three  miles 
away.  It  wouldn't  have  made  a  bit  of  difference,  not  a 
smidgin,  by  Gawd." 

4  You  know,  Felix,"  defended  Tip,  "  that  we  had  it 
fifteen  miles  away  so  the  give-out  horse  of  Bill's  would 
look  more  natural." 

"  Damn  his  give-out  horse,"  snarled  Craft,  moving 
stiffly  toward  the  hall  leading  to  the  kitchen.  "  I  wish 
it  had  give  out  before  I  was  born." 

"  So  you  found  out  how  rough-gaited  the  pinto  was, 
did  you,  Felix?"  Billy  observed  sweetly.  "Do  you 
know,  I  had  an  idea  you  would.  Yeah.  You  don't 
ride  enough,  that's  whatsa  matter.  Stick  too  close  be- 
hind your  faro  box,  you  do.  Y'oughta  try  the  open 
air  and  the  range  more.  Tell  you,  Felix,  I'll  gamble 
you'll  do  more  ridin'  and  less  card  playin'  in  the  next 
sixty  days  than  you  ever  did  in  any  two  months  of  your 
life  before.  In  round  numbers  I'll  bet  you  ride  more 


Obscuring  the  Issue  239 

than  six  hundred  miles  in  the  next  two  months.  Go  you 
a  hundred  even.  The  bet  payable  in  Golden  Bar  sixty 
days  —  say  any  time  after  the  first  day  of  June." 

"  Humor  him,  Crafty,"  suggested  Tip,  glad  of  the 
diversion.  "  Sometimes  they  turn  real  violent." 

"  Make  it  five  hundred  even,"  said  Craft,  who  was 
nothing  if  not  commercial. 

Billy  smiled  pityingly.  "  You  poor  feller!  But 
you've  asked  for  it.  Five  hundred  she  is.  It'll  have 
to  be  a  finger  bet,  because  I  haven't  a  cent  with  me." 

"  Your  word's  good,"  said  Craft  and  went  on  his 
way. 

"  How  about  you  fellers?  "  Billy  pursued  brightly. 
"Any  chance  of  my  turning  a  honest  penny?  I'll  go 
you  both  the  same  as  Crafty.  I  suppose  my  word's 
good." 

"  Better  than  gold,"  declared  Tip,  "  but  I  don't  see 
how  you're  going  to  check  up  on  anybody's  riding." 

Billy  waved  a  complacent  hand.  "  That's  the  least 
of  my  troubles.  How  about  it?  You  fellers  want  to 
bet?  No?  Aw  right,  my  loss  is  your  gain.  Tippy,  I 
wonder  if  you'd  mind  opening  the  door  and  hollering  to 
Felix  to  fry  me  up  a  mess  of  eggs  while  he's  at  it?  Tell 
him  to  let  'em  lay.  That's  the  way  I  like  'em.  I 
thank  you.  Tip,  you've  made  a  mistake." 

"How?" 

"  Having  that  hold-up  fifteen  miles  away  and  then 
having  me  arrested  here  so  close  to  Golden  Bar.  You 
poor  flap,  is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  I'd  hold  up  the 
Hillsville  stage  and  then  come  scamperin'  right  home, 
especially  when  I  knew  my  horse  had  been  seen?  You'll 
find  the  judge  and  jury  lookin'  cross-eyed  at  that  li'l 


240        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

bit.  Yeah,  flaw  in  your  title,  Tippy.  Y'oughta  be 
more  careful." 

"  Bill's  right,"  said  Sam  Larder  unexpectedly.  "  I 
always  thought  fifteen  miles  away  was  too  far,  and  I 
know  the  jury  will  think  it's  funny  he  came  right  back 
to  Golden  Bar.  That  don't  look  natural.  Nawsir." 

"Blah!"  snorted  Tip.  "  You  never  thought  any- 
thing about  it  till  Bill  pointed  it  out  to  you,  and  at  that, 
he's  wrong.  And  anyway,  he  ain't  arrested  yet.  We 
can  always  rub  out  Bill  if  we  feel  like  it.  This  is  one 
county  that  has  plenty  of  good  places  to  leave  a  man  — 
places  where  he  won't  be  found  for  years  and  years, 
and  not  then,  judging  by  the  way  the  coyotes  scatter 
a  feller's  bones.  Have  you  thought  of  that,  Bill? 
You'd  better.  So  far  I've  been  dead  against  making 
you  hard  to  find,  but  if  you  keep  on  trying  to  show  me 
where  I'm  wrong,  maybe  I'll  accept  your  view  of  the 


case." 


This  was  plain  speaking.  Billy  accepted  it  at  its 
face  value.  Tip  was  good-hearted  enough.  He  had 
proved  it.  But  he  was  desperate.  He  had  proved  that, 
too. 

Billy  smiled  engagingly  at  Tip.  "  Shucks,  I  was 
only  talking  to  you  for  your  own  good,"  he  said  in  an 
injured  tone.  "  And  here  you  go  and  get  all  het  up. 
You  make  me  more  tired  than  a  day's  work." 

'  We  may  make  you  tireder,"  was  the  grim  return. 

When  Felix  Craft  brought  the  eggs,  he  drew  up 
at  one  side  of  the  table  and  Billy  at  the  other.  The 
platter  of  eggs  was  between  them.  Tip  looked  on 
from  his  seat  near  the  fireplace.  Sam  lounged  com- 
fortably in  his  chair. 


Obscuring  the  Issue  241 

Billy  looked  with  a  dissatisfied  air  upon  the  eggs. 
"  Ain't  there  any  bread,  Felix?  One  thing  I  like  is  to 
sort  of  smush  a  piece  of  bread  round  my  eggs  till  it 
gets  all  gooey  and  good.  A  li'l  butter  on  the  bread 
wouldn't  hurt  neither." 

So  Felix  made  another  trip  to  the  kitchen.  When 
he  returned  with  the  bread  and  butter,  Billy  discovered 
that  the  pepper  had  been  overlooked. 

"  For  Gawd' a  sake  use  salt  on  'em!"  implored 
Felix.  "  I  never  use  pepper,  I  don't.  Salt  is  just  as 
good.  Healthier,  too." 

"  But  I  don't  like  salt,"  protested  Billy.  "  I've  got 
no  manner  of  use  for  it.  I  want  pepper,  I  do." 

"  Use  salt,"  mumbled  Craft,  stoking  busily. 

Billy  pushed  right  back  from  the  table  and  refused 
to  be  comforted.  "  I  want  some  pepper !  Whatsa 
matter  with  you  jiggers  —  tryin'  to  starve  me  to 
death?  Sam,  you  lazy  lump  of  slumgullion,  get  me 
some  pepper,  will  you?  " 

"  No,  I  won't.  I'm  too  comfortable  and  you're  too 
finicky." 

Bill  glanced  across  at  Tip.  "  You  going  to  refuse 
me  too,  Tip,  old  citizen?" 

"  No,"  said  Tip  with  a  weary  air,  "  I  suppose  not." 

He  arose  and  betook  himself  to  the  kitchen.  Re- 
turning with  a  large  old-fashioned  tin  pepper  pot  he 
thumped  it  down  upon  the  table  in  front  of  the  cap- 
tive. "  There  y'are.  Now,  stop  your  squalling." 

"  Thank  you,  Tippy,  I  will.    Yeah." 

Billy  scraped  up  to  the  table  as  Tip  turned  away. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  this  pepper  pot,  anyway?'1 

Tip  turned  to  look.    Billy  picked  up  the  pepper  pot 


242         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

slowly  and  stared  hard  at  it.  Felix  Craft  craned  his 
neck. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  the  matter  with  it,"  said 
Craft. 

"  Don't  you?"  murmured  Billy,  his  fingers  busy 
with  the  removable  top.  "  Look  here." 

Sam  Larder  did  not  move,  but  both  Tip  and  Craft 
obeyed.  In  fact,  they  obeyed  with  such  good  will  that 
the  handful  of  pepper  that  Billy  instantly  swept  into 
their  faces  dusted  up  their  nostrils  as  well  as  into  their 
eyes. 

In  throwing  the  pepper  Billy  had  employed  his  left 
hand.  This  left  hand  had  not  completed  the  motion 
before  Billy  was  reaching  for  the  platter  of  eggs  with 
his  right  hand. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  Sam  Larder  that  he  was  a 
slow-going  gentleman.  The  platter  struck  him  edge- 
wise over  the  eye  when  his  six-shooter  had  barely 
cleared  the  holster.  The  six-shooter  thudded  to  the 
floor.  Sam  and  his  chair  went  over  backward  and  lay 
together  in  a  tangle  amid  the  fragments  of  broken 
platter  and  the  remains  of  several  eggs.  On  the  way 
down  some  of  the  eggs  painted  Sam's  countenance  and 
part  of  his  shirt  a  bright  yellow.  But  Sam  made  no  at- 
tempt to  rise  and  scrape  himself  off.  He  was  uncon- 
scious. 

Billy,  arriving  in  Sam's  immediate  neighborhood  a 
split  second  after  Sam  struck  the  floor,  scooped  up 
the  fallen  six-shooter  and  wheeled  back  to  face  his 
other  two  enemies.  But  they  were  too  occupied  with 
their  very  real  misery  to  be  an  immediate  menace. 
Felix  Craft  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  clawing  at  his 


Obscuring  the  Issue  243 

eyes  and  swearing  continuously.  Tip,  coughing  and 
sneezing,  was  not  swearing.  Perhaps  he  had  not  suffi- 
cient breath.  At  any  rate,  he  was  on  his  feet,  arms 
spread  wide,  feeling  his  way  along  the  wall  toward  the 
door  giving  into  the  hall. 

Billy  cat-footed  up  behind  Tip  and  snatched  away 
his  six-shooter.  Tip  spun  round  at  the  touch,  but  Billy 
dodged  away  from  the  clutching  hands. 

Bang!  a  revolver  bullet  cut  a  button  from  his  vest? 
and  tucked  into  the  wall  at  his  elbow.  Billy's  sudden 
movement  had  saved  his  life.  He  leaped  back  another 
two  yards  to  get  out  of  the  smoke  and  crouched,  bal- 
ancing his  tense  body  on  the  balls  of  his  feet. 

He  saw  beyond  the  table  Felix  Craft  with  a  gun 
in  each  hand.  The  gambler's  face,  despite  the  tears 
that  overflowed  his  eyes  and  ran  down  his  cheeks,  was 
fairly  murderous. 

"Tip!  Where  are  you?  Don't  you  move,  Bill," 
Craft  was  saying,  the  barrels  of  his  two  guns  weaving 
to  and  fro  uncertainly.  "  Get  away  from  that  door, 
Bill.  Don't  you  try  and  get  away.  I  can  see  you." 

Billy  leaned  forward,  picked  up  a  fork  from  his  set- 
out  on  the  table  and  flung  it  across  the  room.  It  fell 
with  a  clatter.  Craft  fired  at  the  sound.  The  next 
instant  Billy  kicked  him  under  the  chin  and  flattened 
him  out. 

"  First  time  I  ever  saw  a  feller  shoot  by  ear,"  ob- 
served Billy,  calmly  divesting  Craft  of  his  gun  belt 
and  exchanging  Sam's  six-shooter  for  his  own  gun 
with  the  brass-trigger  guard.  "  He  did  pretty  good, 
considering.  Tip,  don't  you  try  to  bluff  me,  like  Crafty, 


244        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

that  you  can  see.  Hey !  do  you  want  to  be  the  third 
senseless  man  in  this  room?  " 

Tip  answered  the  question  by  halting  his  groping 
way  toward  the  speaker.  He  stood  still,  his  body 
swaying,  his  muscular  fingers  locked  in  the  palms  of 
his  hands.  Billy  stooped  over  the  senseless  Craft  and 
whipped  off  his  neckerchief. 

"  Put  your  hands  behind  you,  Tip,"  he  directed. 

"  Damfi  will !  "  Tip  declared. 

"  I  don't  want  to  whang  you  over  the  head,  Tip, 
but  Til  have  to  if  you  won't  be  good.  Stick  'em  be- 
hind you." 

Tip  hesitated,  then  suddenly  he  thrust  his  hands 
behind  him.  Billy  slipped  around  him,  laid  his  six- 
shooter  on  a  chair  seat  and  drew  the  handkerchief  be- 
neath Tip's  crossed  wrists.  The  next  instant  Tip  had 
whirled  about,  Tip's  knees  were  between  his  legs  and 
Tip's  long  arms  were  wrapped  round  him  in  an  under- 
hold. 

Tip  was  essaying  the  wrestling  chip  Cumberland 
men  call  the  swinging  hype.  It  is  a  crack  chip  and 
when  well  done  is  disastrous  to  an  opponent.  But  it 
must  be  well  done  —  the  right  arm  under,  hyping  with 
the  right  leg  and  striking  outside  with  the  left.  For- 
tunately for  Bill,  Tip,  although  his  right  arm  was 
under  in  a  strong  hold,  had  made  the  mistake  of  stick- 
ing his  left  knee  between  Bill's  legs.  He  struck  out- 
side with  his  right  leg  and  missed.  With  the  right 
arm  under,  he  had  not  the  leverage  he  should  have  had. 

Billy,  fighting  for  his  life,  dropped  his  arms  —  back- 
heeled  Tip  and  ran  over  him.  Thump  !  The  wrestlers, 
Tip  underneath,  landed  full  upon  the  senseless  back 


Obscuring  the  Issue  245 

of  Felix  Craft.  Tip  freed  a  hand,  writhed  his  body 
sidewise  and  struck  viciously  at  Billy's  unprotected 
stomach.  He  struck  too  low  and  the  blow  glanced  off 
Billy's  hipbone.  Billy,  striking  in  turn,  drove  a  smash- 
ing right  against  the  point  of  Tip's  chin.  Tip  merely 
grunted  and  struck  again  at  Billy's  stomach.  Billy  par- 
ried the  blow  with  his  left  and  brought  up  his  knee 
with  the  laudable  intention  of  kicking  Tip  in  the  abdo- 
men. 

Blinded  though  he  was,  Tip  apparently  sensed  what 
was  impending,  for  he  crowded  his  body  against  Billy 
and  struck  outside  with  all  his  might.  In  an  instant 
Tip  was  on  top  and  Billy  underneath.  The  older  man 
jammed  both  thumbs  into  Billy's  windpipe  and 
wrenched  himself  astride  Billy's  body.  The  strangling 
Billy  spread  wide  his  legs,  hunched  up  his  knees, 
planted  both  feet  against  Tip's  ribs  and  straightened 
his  legs  with  a  jerk.  Tip's  hands  were  torn  loose  from 
Billy's  throat  and  Tip  himself  crashed  backward 
against  the  wall. 

Billy  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  without  the  slight- 
est hesitation  clipped  Tip  over  the  head  with  the  bar- 
rel of  his  six-shooter.  Tip  remained  where  he  was. 
Billy  stood  over  him,  pistol  poised,  till  he  made  sure 
he  was  senseless.  Then  he  took  pains  to  make  fast 
the  trio's  respective  arms  and  legs  with  strips  torn  from 
a  nightgown  belonging  to  Sam.  He  likewise  removed 
his  spurs  from  Craft's  heels  to  his  own. 

This  being  done,  he  stripped  Tip  and  Sam  of  their 
gun  belts,  gathered  up  all  the  guns  and  ran  out  into 
the  kitchen.  Here,  on  the  floor,  Craft  had  thrown  his 
saddle,  bridle  and  saddle  blanket.  Bill  added  the  lot 


246        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

to  his  burden  and  sped  out  to  the  corral.  The  pinto 
was  there,  looking  very  tired.  Bill  hastily  unstrapped 
his  rope  and  dropped  the  loop  over  a  rangy-bodied 
chestnut  with  good  legs  and  a  mule  stripe.  This  ani- 
mal he  bridled  and  saddled,  left  it  standing  and  ran 
back  to  Sam's  storeroom  for  another  set  of  horse  equip- 
ment. It  was  his  laudable  intention  to  pack  the  un- 
conscious Felix  into  town  and  jail  him  for  the  stage- 
coach robbery.  It  was  a  bold  plan,  but  Billy  always 
rather  favored  the  bold  plan.  The  plan  had  not  oc- 
curred to  him  till  almost  the  instant  of  throwing  the 
pepper  so  he  had  had  no  time  to  thoroughly  mature 
it,  but  it  seemed  to  contain  more  elements  of  success 
than  any  other  because  it  would  forestall  his  enemies' 
scheme  so  neatly.  With  Craft  in  jail  and  wearing  the 
clothing  worn  by  the  robber,  to  which  clothing  the 
complaisant  Jerry  Fern  and  his  passengers  would  un- 
doubtedly be  prepared  to  swear,  it  would  be  hard  in- 
deed, if  Bill  could  not  fasten  the  robbery  on  him,  Craft. 

He  swore  bitterly  as  he  pulled  taut  the  cinch  strap 
of  the  second  horse.  Fastening  the  robbery  on  Craft 
was  one  thing,  obtaining  his  indictment  and  conviction 
were  decidedly  two  others.  What  though  Judge  Donel- 
son  would  do  his  best  to  see  justice  done,  the  doing 
of  said  justice  would  rest  in  the  laps  of  twelve  men, 
each  and  every  one  of  them  the  opposite  of  good  and 
true.  But  at  least  he,  Billy  Wingo,  would  not  be 
the  victim  of  an  outrageous  conspiracy.  There  was 
that  much  gained. 

He  led  the  two  horses  to  the  kitchen  door  and  went 
within  to  fetch  out  Felix  Craft. 

It  must  have  been  his  good  angel  who  caused  him 


Obscuring  the  Issue  247 

to  look  through  the  front  window.  He  looked  and 
saw  a  cloud  of  horsemen  scouring  toward  the  ranch 
house.  Sam's  field  glasses  were  on  the  shelf  above 
the  window.  He  opened  the  window,  snatched  up  the 
glasses  and  focussed  them  on  the  approaching  riders. 
He  immediately  recognized,  to  his  great  disgust,  half 
a  dozen  of  Sam  Larder's  punchers.  Obviously  they 
had  completed  the  fencing-off  of  the  quicksand  sooner 
than  expected. 

"  This,"  said  Billy,  dropping  the  glasses  and  leav- 
ing the  room  at  speed,  "  is  no  place  for  me." 

At  the  first  sight  of  the  riders  he  had  abandoned 
the  plan  of  taking  Felix  Craft  to  town.  He  would  be 
hard  put  to  escape  himself.  A  burdened  led  horse  was 
an  impossibility,  even  if  he  had  had  time  to  carry 
out  Craft  and  tie  him  to  the  saddle.  The  punchers 
would  be  at  the  ranch  house  in  another  sixty  seconds, 
and  if  they  should  discover  him  with  their  bound  and 
unconscious  employer  and  two  of  his  friends,  they 
would  shoot  first  and  ask  questions  later.  Any  one 
would,  —  under  the  circumstances. 

Billy  topped  his  mount,  struck  in  the  spurs  and  fled. 
The  other  horse  he  perforce  left  standing. 

As  he  flashed  past  the  corner  of  the  building,  one 
of  Larder's  punchers  raised  a  yell.  Some  well-meaning 
fool  fired.  Zung-g!  the  bullet  buzzed  overhead. 
Smack!  Zung-g!  Smack!  Several  bits  of  lead  either 
ripped  past  his  ears  or  tucked  into  the  posts  of  the 
corral  he  was  skirting.  It  was  borne  in  upon  him  that 
the  Larder  employees  were  mistaking  him  for  a  horse 
thief,  or  some  one  worse. 

He  leaned  over  his  saddle  horn  and  began  to  ride. 


248         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

From  the  Larder  corral  to  a  clump  of  trees  on  the 
edge  of  a  draw  was  a  long  hundred  yards.  As  Billy 
galloped  in  among  the  trees  he  glanced  over  his  shoul- 
der. The  corral  concealed  the  horsemen.  He  pulled 
up  at  the  edge  of  the  draw,  slid  down  the  bank  in  a 
shower  of  stones  and  dirt,  turned  sharp  to  the  left 
at  the  bottom  and  tore  ahead.  A  mile  farther  on  he 
looked  back.  No  one  was  in  sight  yet. 

"  Ropin'  themselves  fresh  horses,"  was  his  muttered 
verdict.  "  Damitall,  running  away  was  about  the 
worst  thing  I  could  have  done,  after  all !  But  what 
else  was  there  to  do,  I'd  like  to  know?  If  I'd  stayed 
I'd  have  been  plugged  for  a  holdup  and  now  I'm  a  heap 
likely  to  be  lynched  for  a  horse  thief  and  a  hold-up 
both." 

He  knew  what  he  might  expect  from  the  brisk  Lar- 
der outfit  after  Sam  had  given  it  his  careful  version 
of  the  stage  robbery. 

u  And  that  goes  double  for  the  rest  of  the  county," 
he  said  to  himself,  staring  ahead  over  the  flattened 
ears  of  his  racing  horse.  "  It  looks  like  a  cold  day 
for  Billy  Wingo.  I'll  have  to  do  some  almighty  tall 
hustling,  that's  a  cinch." 

Two  miles  and  a  half  from  the  clump  of  trees  at 
the  back  of  Larder's  corral  he  turned  his  horse  and 
scuffled  up  the  right-hand  bank  of  the  draw.  At  the 
top  he  looked  back.  He  could  see  the  clump  of  trees 
quite  plainly  and  below  it,  in  the  bottom  of  the  draw, 
were  several  black  beads.  He  counted  four  beads. 
No  doubt  the  remaining  beads  were  spreading  out  to 
right  and  left  to  head  him  off. 

4  Thank  Gawd  for  the  mule  stripe,"  he  muttered 


Obscuring  the  Issue  249 

piously,  trotting  onward.     "  We'll  diddle  'em  yet,  old- 
timer." 

Old-timer  cocked  an  ear.  His  muscles  were  moving 
rhythmically,  his  long  free  stride  was  steady  and  col- 
lected. His  breathing,  while  audible,  showed  no  catch- 
iness  or  other  sign  of  distress.  He  was  good  for  many 
miles  yet,  this  chestnut  with  the  mule  stripe. 

"  Alia  same,  IVe  got  to  have  another  horse, "  Billy 
decided.  "  The  quicker  this  feller  gets  back  on  the 
Larder  range  the  better." 

He  didn't  quite  know  how  to  get  another  horse. 
When  he  came  in  town  to  assume  the  duties  of  his 
office  he  brought  with  him  from  his  ranch  two  horses 
besides  the  red-and-white  pinto.  His  remaining  horses 
he  had  turned  out  into  the  hills,  upon  whose  tops,  when 
the  snow  flew,  they  could  grub  up  a  living  without  too 
much  difficulty.  These  hills  lay  sixty  miles  away  beyond 
the  Tuckleton  range,  and  every  horse  on  them  would 
be  carrying  a  grass  belly. 

"  Not  one  of  'em  fit  for  hard  riding  right  off  the 
reel,"  he  told  himself,  and  cursed  a  little.  "Looks 
like  Sam  Preseott  was  my  one  best  bet." 

He  came  to  a  stream  and  rode  in  it  till  almost  sunset 
when  he  left  it,  dismounted  beside  a  tall  cottonwood 
and  shinned  to  the  top.  To  his  earnest  satisfaction  he 
saw,  hopelessly  distant  and  following  utterly  wrong 
lines,  the  tiny  black  beads  that  were  his  pursuers. 

"And  that's  that,"  said  Billy  Wingo,  rustling 
groundward  rapidly. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

WHAT  HAZEL  THOUGHT 

NATE  SAMSON,  weighing  sugar  for  Hazel  Walton, 
looked  at  her  sidewise.  "  Heard  the  news,  Hazel  ?" 

She  removed  her  gaze  from  the  flyspecked  window 
and  stared  abstractedly  at  Nate.  "  What  news?  " 

Nate  swelled  his  chest  with  satisfaction.  Some 
people  enjoy  being  the  bearers  of  evil  tidings.  Besides, 
Nate  had  stopped  going  to  see  Hazel.  Somehow  he 
had  been  made  to  feel  that  his  visits  were  not  the  bright 
spots  in  her  drab  existence  that  he  had  considered  them 
to  be.  There  was  more  than  a  little  malice  in  Nate's 
make-up.  And  the  news 

"  Somebody  killed  Tip  O'Gorman  in  his  own  house 
last  night." 

Nate's  hand  pushed  the  sliding  weight  several 
notches  along  the  scale  beam.  Red  Herring,  the  town 
marshal,  slouching  with  seeming  aimlessness  against 
a  showcase  at  the  other  end  of  the  counter,  covertly 
watched  the  girl. 

"  Somebody  killed  Tip  O'Gorman  in  his  own  house 
last  night,"  said  Nate. 

Hazel  wondered  why  Nate's  eyes  never  left  her  face. 
*  Tip  O'Gorman !  He  was  one  of  Uncle  Tom's 
friends.  Who  did  it?" 

Nate's  eyes  were  fairly  devouring  her.     The  man 


What  Hazel  Thought  251 

looked  positively  pleased.      "  They  don't  know  yet. 
But — "     He  paused. 

She  waited.  What  was  he  goggling  and  boggling 
at?  "Well?" 

1  They  found  Bill  Wingo's  quirt  on  the  floor  beside 
the  body 'and  right  inside  the  door  a  snakeskin  hat- 
band the  whole  town  knows  belongs  to  Bill." 

Hazel's  cheeks  began  to  glow.  "  That  doesn't 
prove  anything,"  she  declared  in  a  level  voice.  "  Bill 
owns  three  quirts  to  my  knowledge,  and  he  hasn't 
worn  that  snake  hatband  since  last  July.  It  began  to 
stretch  then  and  was  always  working  up  off  the  crown, 
and  he  couldn't  tighten  it  without  ruining  the  skin, 
so  he  stopped  wearing  it." 

"  It  worked  off  the  crown  once  too  often  last  night," 
offered  Nate. 

Hazel's  black  eyes  were  glittering  through  slitted 
eyelids.  Really,  Nate  Samson  should  have  been 
warned. 

"You  think  Bill  did  it?"  asked  Hazel  Walton. 

Nate  nodded.    "  So  does  everybody  else." 

This  was  not  strictly  true.  Billy  Wingo  had  several 
warm  friends. 

"  At  any  rate,"  Nate  pursued  with  relish,  "  there's 
a  warrant  out  for  Bill." 

"Another  warrant!"  Hazel's  hand  moved  imper- 
ceptibly nearer  a  broad-bladed  cheese-knife  that  lay 
on  the  counter. 

"  Another  warrant.  You  bet  another  warrant. 
That  makes  three  counts  he's  wanted  on  —  stage  rob- 
bery, rustling  that  chestnut  horse  of  Sam  Larder's  and 


252         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

now  this  murder.  I  always  said  Bill  Wingo  was  too 
good  to  be  true." 

Hazel  Walton  made  no  further  remark.  She 
reached  for  the  cheese-knife.  Nate  Samson  ducked 
under  the  counter.  The  cheese-knife  whirred  within 
an  inch  of  his  prickling  scalp  and  stuck  quivering  in  the 
edge  of  a  shelf. 

"  Liar!  "  announced  Hazel  in  a  loud,  unsympathetic 
tone.  "  Fm  only  sorry  I  haven't  a  gun  with  me.  Talk- 
ing like  that  about  a  man  you're  not  fit  to  say  hello  to. 
Here,  I  don't  want  any  of  this  stuff!  You  can  keep 
it." 

So  saying,  she  toppled  over  her  whole  pile  of 
wrapped  purchases  and  marched  out  of  the  store. 
The  marshal  followed  her  to  the  door.  He  returned 
to  his  post  at  the  counter  a  minute  later. 

"  It's  all  right,  Nate,"  he  said.  "  She's  gone  over 
to  the  other  store." 

Nate  Samson  emerged  slowly.  His  pouchy  cheeks 
were  pale  with  fear.  There  was  a  dew  of  perspiration 
on  his  forehead. 

"  She  —  she  threw  a  knife  at  me,"  said  Nate  Sam- 
son. 

"It's  stuck  in  the  shelf  behind  you."  Thus  the 
marshal  with  indifference. 

4  That's  assault  with  a  deadly  weapon,"  averred 
Nate,  freeing  the  deadly  weapon  and  putting  it  care- 
fully out  of  reach  of  other  possibly  petulant  custom- 
ers. u  Why  didn't  you  arrest  her,  Red?  " 

"  She  missed  you,  Nate.  She'd  have  had  to  cut 
you  some  before  I  could  arrest  her.  4  Threaten  or 


What  Hazel  Thought  253 

Inflict  a  wound/  the  statutes  say,  and  she  didn't  do 
either.  No." 

"  But  she  might  have/'  grumbled  the  discomforted 
Nate.  "  If  I  hadn't  dodged,  she'd  have  split  my  head 
open." 

"  That's  so,"  the  marshal  assented  with  relish.  "  Do 
you  know,  Nate,  I'm  glad  it  happened.  I  dunno  that 
I'd  have  thought  of  it  if  I  hadn't  seen  her  buzz  that 
knife  at  you." 

"  Thought  of  what?"  fretted  Nate,  stopping  to 
gather  up  the  parcels  that  had  cascaded  over  his  head 
to  the  floor.  "  What  you  talking  about,  anyway?" 

The  marshal  settled  himself  to  elucidate.  "  I  know 
that  Bill  had  cut  you  out  with  Hazel  and " 

"  No  such  thing,"  Nate  contradicted  sharply,  with 
a  reddening  cheek.  "  No  such  thing.  You  got  it  all 
wrong,  Red.  I  stopped  going  to  see  Hazel  because 
it  was  so  far  and  all.  I  —  uh  —  I  got  tired  ridin'  all 
that  distance." 

"  All  right,"  the  marshal  gave  in  pacifically,  "  you 
stopped  goin'  to  see  her  because  it  was  so  far  from 
town.  Bill  started  going  to  see  her,  and  he  went  to 
see  her  right  smart  for  a  spell." 

"  He  didn't  go  any  more  than  that  good-for-nothing 
flibberty-gibbet  of  a  Riley  Tyler  or  any  other  of  half 
a  dozen  chaps,"  declared  Nate. 

"•Aw  right,  aw  right,  have  it  your  own  way  for 
Gawd's  sake !  If  you  don't  shut  up,  I  won't  tell  you 
what  I  think!  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think !  I  think  I'm  a  idjit  to  let 
you  stop  around  my  store  alia  time  and  fill  your  fat 
stomach  to  the  neck  with  my  prunes  and  dried  peaches 


254         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

and  sweet  crackers,  It  would  be  bad  enough  if  you 
took  the  salt  fellers,  but  not  you.  Oh,  no,  not  a-tall. 
Mr.  Herring  has  to  have  sweet  ones!  n 

"  I  like  them  best,"  Mr.  Herring  said  matter-of- 
factly.  u  Lessee,  where  was  I?  Oh,  yeah,  you  had 
gotten  wore  to  a  frazzle  by  the  distance  to  the  Walton 
ranch,  and  Bill  had  started  goin'  in  that  direction,  him- 
self. Then  this  winter  sometime  he  stopped  goin'  to 
see  Hazel,  didn't  he?  " 

"  She  got  tired  of  him  —  naturally." 

"  You  dunno  what  happened.  Neither  do  I  know. 
But  that  they  had  a  fight  is  as  good  a  guess  as  any,  and 
Love's  young  dream  went  bust.  We  all  thought  so, 
didn't  we,  and  while  we  were  trailin'  Bill  we  didn't 
take  Hazel  into  consideration  a-tall.  But  what  hap- 
pens to-day  when  you  run  down  Bill  to  her  face.  She 
slings  a  knife  at  you  so  prompt  and  free  you  almost 
lost  four  fifths  of  your  looks.  She  said  things  too,  and 
all  going  to  show  that  they've  made  it  up  and  she's 
in  love  again  with  Bill.  Well  then,  if  she's  in  love 
with  Bill,  he's  either  coming  to  see  her  off  and  on  or 
else  she  knows  where  he  is." 

"  Not  necessarily.     It  don't  follow  a-tall." 

*  You've  soured  on  the  girl,  that's  all  the  matter 
with  you.  I  tell  you,  Nate,  if  a  girl  as  pretty  as  Hazel 
Walton  is  in  love  with  a  feller,  do  you  think  for  a 
minute  he  wouldn't  come  to  see  her  sometimes,  or 
anyway  let  her  know  where  he  is  ?  Why,  you  poor  flap, 
he'd  be  a  wooden  man  if  he  didn't  do  one  or  both  of 
those  things.  And  Bill  Wingo  ain't  anybody's  wooden 
man.  Not  that  boy.  He's  an  upstandin'  citizen  with 


What  Hazel  Thought  255 

all  his  brains  and  legs  and  arms  and  fingers  and  feet, 
and  that's  the  kind  of  hairpin  he  is." 

"  All  that's  a  heap  interesting,  but  let's  hear  the 
point  of  the  joke  —  if  there  is  one." 

"  The  point  is  that  if  a  gent  was  to  watch  Hazel 
Walton  and  her  traipsings  to  and  fro,  by  and  by  he'd 
get  news  of  Bill  Wingo.  And  I'm  a  great  li'l  watcher 
myself  —  especially  when  there's  two  thousand  dol- 
lars reward,  like  there  is  for  Bill.  It's  worth  some 
trouble.  Tell  you,  Nate,  I'm  glad  I  dropped  in  here 
this  morning." 

'  You're  marshal,  pointed  out  Nate.  "  You  can't 
leave  town." 

"I  ain't  supposed  to  work  all  night  —  only  day- 
times and  part  of  the  evening.  It's  a  cinch  Bill  won't 
make  any  social  calls  in  daylight  and  it's  a  cinch  the 
distance  from  town  to  Walton's  won't  tire  me  out  like 
it  has  you." 

"  Putting  it  that  way,"  said  Nate,  suddenly  perceiv- 
ing an  opportunity  to  make  a  little  easy  money,  "  put- 
ting it  that  way,  maybe  I'll  go  too." 

u  It  ain't  necessary,"  protested  the  marshal,  alarmed 
at  the  bare  thought  of  dividing  a  profit.  "  I  can  man- 
age it  myself." 

"  I'll  help  you,  though." 

"  Look  here,  whose  scheme  is  this,  huh?" 

"  You  may  have  thought  of  it,"  conceded  Nate, 
"  but  she  was  my  girl  first,  and  I  got  as  much  right 
to  go  out  there  again  and  see  her  as  you  have,  and 
I  got  as  much  right  to  that  two  thousand  dollars  as 
you  have." 

The  marshal  swore  frankly.     "  I'll  never  tell  you 


256        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

anything  again.  Taking  advantage  of  a  feller  this 
way.  I  thought  you  were  my  friend.'' 

"  I  am.     We'll  go  out  together,  huh?  " 

"  We  will  not,"  contradicted  the  marshal.  "  So  you 
can  just  as  well  stop  stretching  your  mouth  about  it." 

"  Is  that  so?     Is  that  so?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  so.  This  is  my  private  party,  and  you 
wanna  keep  paws  off." 

"  Aw,  go  sit  on  yourself!  " 

"  Remember  what  I  told  you,"  the  marshal  said 
in  part  and  took  his  departure. 

Arrived  home,  Hazel  unhitched  and  unharnessed, 
turned  the  team  into  the  corral  and  carried  her  pur- 
chases into  the  kitchen  and  dumped  them  on  the  table. 
She  hung  up  her  man's  hat  on  one  of  the  hooks  that 
held  the  Winchester,  and  fluffed  the  hair  about  her 
temples  by  the  aid  of  the  mirror  that  hung  below  the 
Terry  clock  her  uncle  had  brought  West  with  him.  She 
had  always  liked  the  Terry  clock,  —  from  the  cheer- 
ful painted  pumpkins  and  grapes  that  graced  the  pat- 
terned top  to  the  peculiar  throbbing  ring  it  gave  on 
striking  the  hour,  she  liked  it. 

And  on  a  day  the  old  clock  was  destined  to  repay 
that  liking  full  measure,  pressed  down  and  running 
over. 

While  she  was  fixing  her  hair,  the  clock  struck  three. 

Silently  she  unwrapped  her  bundles  and  stored  away 
the  contents  in  crock  and  box  and  drawer.  A  tidy  per- 
son, Hazel.  Then,  because  she  was  still  in  a  temper 
with  Nate  Samson,  she  changed  her  dress,  donned  a 
pair  of  overalls  and  began  to  scrub  the  kitchen  floor. 


What  Hazel  Thought  257 

"Liar!  "  she  said  aloud,  scraping  a  vigorous  brush 
under  the  dresser.  "Liar!  I  hope  your  old  store 
burns  up  I  " 

So  occupied  was  she  with  her  thoughts  and  her 
work  that  she  failed  to  hear  the  approach  of  a  rider. 
'  'Lo,  Hazel,"  was  the  rider's  greeting  delivered 
across  the  doorsill. 

Hazel's  brush  stopped  swishing  to  and  fro. 

"  Hello,  Sally  Jane,"  she  said  smilingly,  supporting 
herself  on  one  arm  and  pushing  back  the  hair  that  had 
fallen  over  her  hot  face.  "  Put  your  horse  in  the  cor- 
ral and  come  on  in," 

"  I  tied  him  to  the  wagon,"  said  Sally  Jane. 

Out  of  respect  for  the  wet  floor  she  jigged  on  her 
heels  across  to  a  chair  and  seated  herself,  hooking  her 
heels  in  a  rug.  Sally  Jane  looked  at  Hazel  with  specu- 
lation in  her  eyes. 

"  You  look  mad,  dear,"  Sally  Jane  said. 

"  I  am,"  declared  Hazel,  and  began  to  sizzle  anew. 
"  Just  listen,"  she  continued,  hopping  up  to  seat  her- 
self on  the  table,  "  to  what  I  heard  in  town  this  morn- 
ing. Nate  told  me  —  " 

" —  there  now,"  she  concluded.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  that  for  a  put-up  job?  Why,  it's  not  even 
clever." 

"  No,"  agreed  Sally  Jane.  "  Too  many  articles 
belonging  to  Bill.  Either  the  quirt  or  the  hatband, 
but  not  both.  I'd  like  to  know  how  they  got  hold  of 
them." 

"They?" 

"  Or  he.  It  may  have  been  one  man,  and  it  may  have 
been  more  than  one.  You  can't  tell.  Tip  had  enemies 


258        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

—  several.     But  I'm  afraid  the  gang  won't  take  that 
into  consideration. —  much.     All  they'll  be  able  to  see 
is  the  quirt  and  the  hatband.     And  on  top  of  what's 
happened  already!     Confound  it,  Bill  shouldn't  have 
disappeared  this  way.    All  his  friends  know  he  didn't 

—  couldn't  have  either  held  up  the  stage   or   really 
rustled  Sam  Larder's  precious  horse,  which,  by  the 
way,  was  found  mud  to  the  ears  near  Sam's  corral 
this  morning.     Fact,  Dad  told  nie.     But  why  didn't 
Bill  stay  and  face  the  music?     That's  what  I'd  like 
to  know.     He  should  have  known  he'd  only  hurt  him- 
self by  running  off  this  way.     That's  where  he  made 
one  big  mistake." 

At  which  Hazel  jumped  right  off  the  table.  Her 
black  eyes  snapped.  "  He  didn't  make  any  mistake !  " 
she  cried.  "  He  did  just  right !  I  know  he  did.  If  he 
ran  —  went  away  —  he  had  a  good  reason  and  you 
can't  tell  me  different,  Sally  Jane  Prescott!  " 

The  older  girl  threw  out  a  hand  in  mock  alarm. 
'  There,  there,  honey,  calm  down.  I  didn't  mean  any- 
thing against  your  precious  Bill.  Not  a  thing." 

u  He's  not  my  precious  Bill,"  denied  Hazel  with 
vigor.  "  He's  just  a  good  fuf-friend." 

Sally  Jane  looked  at  her  shrewdly.  "  What  makes 
you  think  your  —  friend  didn't  make  a  mistake  in 
going  away?  " 

"  Because  he  couldn't  make  a  mistake  if  he  tried. 
That's  why."  Oh,  the  defiance  in  the  voice  of  Hazel. 

"  Heavens  above,  child!  Men  are  only  human 
beings  and  human  beings  make  mistakes.  Bill's  a  man, 
and  he's  liable  to  make  mistakes  like  any  other  one 
of  them." 


What  Hazel  Thought  259 

"Not  Bill,"  Hazel  contradicted  flatly.  "  He  — 
he's  different.  He " 

Alarums  and  excursions  without  —  the  gallop  of 
several  horses,  shouts  of  men,  the  jingle  and  stamp 
of  riders  dismounting  at  the  door.  Entered  then  Felix 
Craft  and  Sam  Larder  with  drawn  guns,  in  their  rear 
the  district  attorney,  likewise  with  weapon  displayed. 

"Whose  horse  is  that?"  Craft  demanded,  fixing 
Hazel  with  a  baleful  eye. 

"  If  you  mean  the  one  tied  to  the  wagon,"  replied 
Hazel,  "  it  belongs  to  Sally  Jane  Prescott." 

"What  of  it?"  demanded  Sally  Jane,  appraising 
the  trio  with  a  cool  glance. 

"  Visitors  in  my  kitchen  take  off  their  hats,"  re- 
minded Hazel  severely. 

The  three  men  sheepishly  removed  their  hats  and 
sheathed  their  firearms. 

"  That's  better,"  said  Hazel.  "  You  don't  know  how 
silly  you  looked,  rushing  in  here  brandishing  your  guns 
that  way.  I  was  quite  frightened  for  a  minute."  Here 
she  giggled  and  winked  at  Sally  Jane. 

"  We  thought  maybe  Bill  Wingo  was  here,"  said 
Craft. 

"  And  what  made  you  think  Bill  Wingo  was  here?  " 
asked  Hazel. 

"That  horse  outside,"  he  replied,  watching  her 
shrewdly.  "  Do  you  mind  if  I  search  the  house?  " 

"I  certain  do  mind!"  cried  Hazel.  "You  dare 
search  this  house!  Just  you  try  it  I  " 

"  I'll  bet  the  man's  here,"  struck  in  the  district  at- 
torney, pushing  to  the  front.  "  Good  thing  we  sur- 
rounded the  house  first.  If  youVe  got  Bill  Wingo  hid- 


260        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

den  anywhere,  you  give  him  up,  do  you  hear,  Hazel?  " 
"  Miss  Walton  to  you,  do  you  hear,  Rale?  " 
He  eyed  her  a  moment  venomously. 
"  Gettin'  particular,  ain't  you?  "  he  sneered.     u  Any 
one  would  think  —  "     His  tongue  ceased  suddenly  to 
wag  as  she  dipped  the  floor  brush  in  the  dirty  water  of 
the  bucket  and  drew  back  her  arm. 

"Yes?"  prompted  Hazel,  her  eyes  beginning  to 
glitter  with  a  dangerous  light. 

"  Nothing,"  capitulated  the  district  attorney  and 
tried  to  smile.  "  I  was  thinking  of  a  joke  I  heard 
last  night,  Miss  Walton." 

"  That's  better,"  approved  Hazel. 
"  Look  here,"  said  the  district  attorney,   "  if  Bill 
Wingo  ain't  here,  what  did  you  go  to  town  for  to-day 
and  buy  all  those  supplies?  " 

Genuine  astonishment  showed  on  Hazel's  counte- 
nance. u  Those  supplies  were  my  regular  supplies. 
Don't  you  suppose  I  buy  something  to  eat  once  in  a 
while?" 

"  Queer  you  should  have  come  in  and  got  that  stuff 
the  day  after  Tip  O'Gorman  was  murdered." 

"  We  figure,"  said  Sam  Larder,  "  that  Bill  Wingo 
will  have  to  eat  right  along,  and  that  unless  he's  left 
the  country,  it's  natural  he'll  get  his  supplies  from  his 
friends,  and  we  know  that  you  drove  in  town  and 
bought  supplies  this  morning." 

;<  Well,  I've  told  you  who  I  bought  'em  for,"  snapped 
Hazel.  "Anything  else?" 

'  There  is,"  said  the  district  attorney  smoothly. 
"  Were  going  to  search  the  house." 


What  Hazel  Thought  261 

"You  won't  take  my  word  that  Bill  Wingo  isn't 
here?"  demanded  Hazel. 

"  In  a  matter  like  this  we  can't/'  replied  the  dis- 
trict attorney. 

"  One  moment,"  murmured  Hazel,  stepping  back. 

The  next  instant  she  had  jerked  her  Winchester  off 
the  hooks  and  cocked  the  hammer.  "  Now,"  she  re- 
sumed, holding  the  weapon  level  with  her  belt,  "  now 
go  ahead  and  search  the  house." 

The  district  attorney,  with  a  haste  that  was  ludi- 
crous, slid  behind  the  fat  bulk  of  Sam  Larder.  Even 
Felix  Craft  smiled. 

"  She's  bluffing,"  declared  the  district  attorney. 
"  I'll  go  out  and  get  the  marshal." 

He  departed  hurriedly,  to  return  almost  immediately 
with  Red  Herring.  The  latter,  sheepish  as  to  the  face 
and  with  shambling  legs,  advanced  into  the  room.  The 
district  attorney  pointed  dramatically  at  Hazel. 

"  Arrest  her,"  he  directed. 

"Huh?"  remarked  the  marshal,  eyeing  Hazel's 
artillery. 

"Arrest  her,  I  said.  To  threaten  with  a  deadly 
weapon  is  a  statutory  offense." 

"  Well,  I  dunno,"  balked  the  marshal. 

"  Go  on  and  arrest  her.     I'll  back  you  up." 

"Will  you?"  Absolutely  no  enthusiasm  on  the 
part  of  the  marshal. 

"G'on!  What  are  you  waiting  for?"  barked  the 
exasperated  district  attorney. 

"  I'm  waiting  for  her  to  put  up  her  gun,"  was  the 
truthful  reply. 


262         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"What  you  afraid  of?  She  won't  shoot.  She's 
only  bluffing,  I  tell  you." 

"  You  arrest  her  then.  I  ain't  none  sure  I  got  a 
right  to.  I'm  only  supposed  to  make  arrests  in  town. 
You  better  get  one  of  the  deputies  to  arrest  her, 
Arthur,  I  —  I'd  rather  you  would." 

The  marshal  oozed  outdoors.  The  district  attor- 
ney said  something. 

"  No  more  of  that,"  Sam  Larder  enjoined  him. 
"  You  stop  your  cussin',  you  hear.  There's  ladies 
present." 

"  Where?  "  the  district  attorney  demanded,  staring 
about  him  insolently. 

"  My  father  will  ask  you  what  you  mean  by  that," 
said  Sally  Jane. 

"  I  didn't  mean  you,"  mumbled  the  angry  man,  per- 
ceiving that  he  had  gone  a  little  too  far.  "I  —  I  was  a 
li'l  hasty,  I  guess.  No  offense,  ladies,  I  hope." 

He  achieved  a  clumsy  bow  and  again  faced  Hazel. 
"  Now,  look  here,  you  can't  go  on  acting  this  way, 
you  know.  You're  only  hurting  your  own  case.  Be 
reasonable,  be  reasonable." 

"  And  let  you  poke  all  through  my  house!"  she 
snapped  him  up.  "  Not  much.  I  don't  want  any 
trouble,  but  I'll  have  to  shoot  the  first  man  that  goes 
beyond  this  room." 

'  Told  you  you'd  get  her  all  stirred  up,"  said  Sam 
Larder. 

'*  We  didn't  want  you  to  come  along  anyway,  Rale," 
contributed  Felix  Craft.  "  You're  too  buffle-headed  for 
any  human  use.  Y'oughta  take  things  more  easy  with 


What  Hazel  Thought  263 

the  girl.  If  you'd  left  it  to  us,  everything  would  have 
been  all  right." 

"  I  suppose  busting  in  with  your  guns  pulled  is  one 
way  of  taking  it  easy." 

"  I  notice  you  had  yours  out,"  supplied  Felix. 

"  I  thought  the  man  might  be  here,  same  as  you," 
defended  the  district  attorney. 

u  Which  is  why  you  let  us  go  first,"  sneered  Sam. 

'  When  you're  quite  through  bickering  among  your- 
selves—  "  drawled  Hazel. 

"  I  wish  you'd  point  that  rifle  somewhere  else,"  the 
district  attorney  remarked  uneasily. 

"  It's  all  right  where  it  is,"  was  the  instant  return. 

"  I  could  arrest  you,  you  know,  if  I  wanted  to,"  he 
pointed  out. 

"  I  heard  you  say  something  like  that  to  the  mar- 
shal," nodded  Hazel. 

The  district  attorney  stared  a  moment. 

"Huh!"  he  muttered  finally  and  strode  to  the 
door.  "  Hey,  Red!  "  he  called.  "  Come  here  a  min- 
ute, will  you?  " 

"  Now  I  ain't  gonna  arrest  her  for  you  and  that's 
flat!  "  announced  a  sulky  voice  without. 

"  Nobody's  asking  you  to.    Come  in,  man,  come  in." 

The  marshal  sidled  in,  stumbling  in  his  efforts  to 
keep  one  eye  on  the  district  attorney  and  the  other 
on  Hazel's  Winchester. 

"  You  were  in  Nate  Samson's  store  this  morning, 
weren't  you,  Red?  "  It  was  more  of  a  statement  than 
a  question. 

The  marshal  immediately  gave  the  district  attorney 
the  full  benefit  of  both  eyes.  "  Huh  ?  " 


264        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  You  were  there  when  this  girl,  Miss  Walton,  made 
some  purchases,  weren't  you?  " 

"  Yeah,"  admitted  the  marshal. 

"  When  Nate  told  her  of  the  murder  and  the  war- 
rant sworn  out  again  Bill  Wingo,  what  did  she  do?  " 

«\yhy  —  "  stuttered  the  marshal. 

"She  flew  into  a  rage,  didn't  she?  She  threw  a 
knife  at  Nate,  didn't  she?  " 

"Who  told  you  all  this?"  the  marshal  wished  to 
know. 

"  Nate  told  me." 

"  Damn  Nate,  that's  all  I  got  to  say,"  pronounced 
the  marshal,  disgusted  at  the  duplicity  of  a  former 
friend.  "  I  was  wonderin'  where  you  got  the  notion 
so  sudden  of  coming  out  here.  Damn  that  —  Excuse 
me,  Miss,  for  cussin'.  What's  that  you  want  to  know, 
Rale?  Yes,  I  was  there  and  she  slung  a  knife  at  Nate. 
With  any  luck  she'd  had  hit  him  and  serve  him  right, 
the  flat-tongued  snitch." 

"  There  now,"  exclaimed  the  triumphant  district  at- 
torney, "  you  hear  that,  Miss  Walton?  You  drove  into 
town  the  morning  after  the  murder.  When  you  aia 
told  of  the  murder  and  the  warrant,  you  fly  into  a 
passion  and  try  to  kill  the  inoffensive  storekeeper 
who  told  you  the  news.  Not  content  with  this,  you 
throw  what  you've  already  bought  at  the  storekeeper 
and  make  your  purchases  at  the  other  store.  I  have 
learned  that  among  the  purchases  were  twelve  boxes  of 
.45-90  rifle  cartridges  and  six  boxes  of  .45  caliber  Colt 
cartridges.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  these  cart- 
ridges are  not  intended  for  your  personal  use.  In  fact, 


What  Hazel  Thought  265 

I  am  positive  you  bought  them  for  the  murderer,  Wil- 
liam H.  Wingo." 

The  marshal  glanced  quickly  at  the  district  attor- 
ney. He  himself  had  not  been  aware  of  the  ammuni- 
tion item.  The  marshal  inwardly  cursed  the  district 
attorney  and  Nate  Samson. 

"  Well,"  boomed  the  district  attorney,  when  Hazel 
did  not  instantly  speak,  "  what  have  you  to  say?" 

"  Plenty,"  said  she  then.  "  I  bought  those  cart- 
ridges for  my  personal  use.  This  Winchester  is  a  .45- 
90  and  my  sixshooter  is  a  .45.  I  guess  I've  got  a  right 
to  buy  ammunition  now  and  then  if  I  like." 

"  Rats !  "  snarled  the  district  attorney,  stiff  in  his 
conceit.  "  What  does  a  girl  want  with  two  hundred 
and  forty  rifle  cartridges  and  three  hundred  revolver 
cartridges?  Those  revolver  cartridges  especially? 
You  won't  have  use  for  'em  in  ten  years.  You  bought 
them  for  Bill  Wingo.  You  can't  fool  me !  You  know 
where  he  is,  you  know  you  do,  and  I  know  you  do,  and 
I  intend  to  put  you  in  jail  as  a  suspicious  character 
until  you  tell  us  where  he  is." 

"  What  a  filthy  animal  you  are,  anyway,  Rale  I  I 
didn't  know  such  things  as  you  lived!  "  Thus  Sally 
Jane,  her  upper  lip  fairly,  curling  with  disgust. 

"  When  I  get  back  to  Golden  Bar,  Miss  Walton," 
fumed  the  district  attorney,  unmoved  by  the  insult, 
"  I  intend  to  swear  out  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  and 
have  it  served  by  deputy  sheriffs.  If  necessary,  I  shall 
swear  in  deputies  other  than  the  two  men,  Shotgun 
Shillman  and  Riley  Tyler,  for  the  purpose  of  serving 
this  warrant.  I  intend  to  have  the  law  obeyed." 


266        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  She  ain't  busted  any  law  that  I  can  see,"  struck 
in  Sam  Larder  gruffly. 

Neither  he  nor  Felix  Craft  had  intended  to  go  as 
far  as  an  actual  arrest  of  the  girl.  They  were  bad 
enough,  in  all  conscience,  but  they  drew  the  line  some- 
where. 

Felix  Craft  shook  his  head.  "  No  arrest,  Arthur. 
That  don't  go." 

"  I  can  arrest  her,  I  tell  you,"  insisted  the  district 
attorney. 

"  No,"  said  Craft  firmly.  "  Miss  Walton,"  he  went 
on,  turning  to  the  girl,  "  we  were  a  li'l  excited  when  we 
came  in  here.  Seeing  that  horse  outside  and  all,  we 
got  the  idea  that  maybe  Bill  was  here.  Will  you  give 
us  your  word  he  isn't?  " 

u  Why,  certainly,"  she  said.  "  Bill  isn't  here,  I 
give  you  my  word." 

"  Fair  enough,"  said  Craft.  "  We'll  be  going.  Come 
along,  Arthur,  move." 

He  and  Sam  hustled  the  district  attorney  out  be- 
tween them.  Craft  called  in  the  cordon  of  1  orsemen 
that  had  surrounded  the  ranch-house. 

"  Crawl  your  horse,  Arthur,"  ordered  Craft. 
"  What  you  waiting  for?  " 

Arthur,  swearing  heartily,  did  as  directed.  "  I  don't 
see  why  you  don't  want  me  to  have  her  arrested,"  he 
said  in  part  as  they  rode  townward.  "  A  few  days 
in  the  cooler " 

"  No  sense  in  it,"  declared  Craft.     "  A  lot  of  folks 

in  the  county  wouldn't  like  it  either,  she  being  a  woman 

and  a  good-lookin'  one  besides.    You  leave  her  alone." 

(  Yeah,"  slipped  in  Sam,  "  wait  till  you  get  some 


What  Hazel  Thought  267 

real  evidence  against  her.     Suspicion  ain't  anything." 

"  It  would  be  enough  for  me  to  arrest  her  all  right," 
persisted  the  district  attorney. 

uBlah!  You  couldn't  hold  her  a  week,"  averred 
Craft,  "  and  you  know  it.  And  lemme  tell  you,  I 
don't  believe  she  knows  any  more  about  Bill  Wingo 
than  I  do.  You  know  they  busted  up  this  winter  some 
time." 

"  Changed  your  tune  mighty  sudden,"  sneered  the 
district  attorney.  "  On  the  way  out  you  were  as  sure 
as  the  rest  of  us  we'd  get  some  kind  of  a  clue  at  Wal- 
ton's. Those  cartridges " 

"  Dry  up  about  those  cartridges!  "  exclaimed  Felix. 
"  You  got  cartridges  on  the  brain." 

Then  the  wrangle  became  general. 

Hazel,  standing  in  the  doorway,  watched  the  caval- 
cade disappear  around  the  bend  in  the  draw. 

"  I  guess,"  she  said,  taking  a  box  of  cartridges  from 
the  top  shelf  and  snicking  open  the  sealing  with  a  finger 
nail,  "  I  guess  I'd  better  load  this  rifle." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

THE    BARE-HEADED   MAN 

"  BUT  I  rode  over  here  especially  to  bring  you  back 
with  me  to  stay  a  while,  a  long  while,  as  long  as  you 
like  and  longer."  Thus  Sally  Jane,  looking  injured. 

Hazel  shook  her  head.  "  Can't,  dear.  Honestly, 
Td  like  nothing  better  than  to  go  a-visiting,  but  I've 
just  got  to  look  after  the  ranch." 

Sally  Jane  gazed  at  her  friend  a  moment  in  silence, 
then:  "  You  don't  really  have  to  stay  here,  Hazel. 
You  only  think  you  do.  You'd  much  better  come  over 
and  stay  with  us.  You  know  I'd  love  to  have  you,  and 
this  is  no  place  for  you  all  alone  by  yourself  this  way. 
Suppose " 

"  Who'd  hurt  me  ?  "  interrupted  Hazel.  "  Anyway, 
I'm  not  going  to  be  driven  off  my  own  ranch  by  any- 
body. I'm  going  to  stay  here  until  I  find  a  buyer  for 
the  place." 

"  But  that  may  be  a  year,"  objected  Sally  Jane. 

"  It  may  be  several  years.  Money's  awfully  tight 
just  now,  the  Hillsville  cashier  said,  the  last  time  I  was 
over." 

"  I  don't  care,  somebody  —  some  man  ought  to  be 
here.  Can't  you  get  Ray  back  earlier  than  usual?" 

Hazel  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  want  to,  Sally 
Jane.  He  went  east  to  Missouri  to  visit  his  folks,  and 


The  Bare-Headed  Man          269 

I'm  not  going  to  spoil  his  good  time.    He'll  be  back  in 
time  for  the  spring  round-up,  though." 

"That  won't  be  till  next  month,"  objected  Sally 
Jane.  "Anything  might  happen  in  the  meantime. 
Land  alive,  just  look  at  this  afternoon !  " 

"  Well,  look  at  it.  Not  a  thing  happened  to  hurt, 
did  it?  Lord,  Sally  Jane,  men  are  the  easiest  things 
in  the  world  to  handle  when  you  know  how." 

'  You  don't  give  them  half  enough  credit,"  said 
Sally  Jane  dryly.  Scratch  a  man  and  you'll  catch  a 
savage  every  time.  Beasts!  " 

"  Rats!  "  remarked  Hazel,  and  gave  her  head  a  toss 
and  turned  her  attention  to  practical  things.  "  Look 
at  this  clean  floor!  Look  at  the  dirt  they  tracked  in! 
Oh,  the  devil!  I  could  swear!  " 

She  fetched  a  fresh  bucket  of  water  and  began  to 
scrub  the  floor  anew. 

"  I'm  going,"  announced  Sally  Jane.  "  Once  more, 
Hazel,  won't  you  change  your  mind  and  visit  with  us 
for  a  while?  " 

Hazel  shook  her  head.  "  I  only  wish  I  felt  able 
to.  But  you  don't  have  to  go  yet.  Stay  to  supper, 
do.  Let  the  male  parent  get  his  own  supper  for  a 
change.  It  won't  hurt  him.  And  there'll  be  a  fine 
old  moon  to-night  about  eight." 

"  I  promised  Dad  French  bread  for  to-night,  or  I 
would.  I  can't  disappoint  him.  So  long.  Ride  over 
first  chance  you  get." 

When  Sally  Jane  was  gone,  Hazel  hurried  to  finish 
the  scrubbing  of  the  floor.  When  she  had  wrung  out 
the  last  mop  rag  and  hung  it  to  dry  behind  the  stove, 
she  fed  the  chickens  and  horses,  took  the  ax  and  buck- 


2jo        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

saw,  went  out  to  the  woodpile  and  sawed  and  split  a 
man's  size  jag  of  stove  wood  and  kindling. 

In  the  red  glory  of  the  sunset  she  returned  to  the 
house  with  her  arms  piled  high  with  wood.  She  made 
sufficient  trips  to  fill  the  woodbox,  then  started  a  fire 
in  the  stove,  put  on  the  coffeepot  and  ground  up  enough 
coffee  for  four  cupfuls.  She  liked  coffee,  did  Hazel 
Walton. 

Bacon  and  potatoes  were  sputtering  in  their  respec- 
tive pans  on  the  stove  before  it  was  so  dark  that  she 
was  forced  to  light  the  lamp. 

She  had  slipped  back  the  chimney  into  the  clamps  and 
was  waiting  for  it  to  heat  so  that  she  could  turn  up 
the  wick  when  the  faintest  of  creaks  at  the  door  made 
her  look  up. 

She  did  not  move,  just  stood  there  staring  stupidly 
at  the  bareheaded  man  that  blocked  the  open  door- 
way. For  the  bareheaded  man  was  Dan  Slike,  his 
harsh  face  rendered  even  less  prepossessing  than  usual 
by  a  week's  stubble  of  beard.  A  six-shooter  was  in 
Dan  Slike's  hand,  and  the  barrel  was  pointing  at  her 
breast. 

"  Don't  go  makin'  any  move  toward  that  rifle  on 
the  hooks  back  of  you,"  said  Dan  Slike,  slipping  into 
the  room  and  closing  the  door  behind  him.  "  If  you  do, 
Til  have  to  beef  you.  I  don't  wanna  hurt  you  —  I 
ain't  in  the  habit  of  hurting  women,  but  by  Gawd, 
if  it  comes  to  me  or  you,  why  it'll  just  naturally  have 
to  be  you.  Dish  up  that  grub  a-frying  there  on  the 
stove.  I'm  hungry.  Get  a  move  on." 

At  that  she  turned  in  a  flash  and  reached  for  the 
Winchester.  She  had  it  barely  off  the  hooks  when 


The  Bare-Headed  Man          271 

Dan  Slike  was  beside  her.  With  his  left  hand  he 
seized  the  gun  barrel  and  shoved  it  upward.  And 
as  he  did  so,  he  smote  her  across  the  top  of  the  head 
with  his  pistol  barrel. 

A  rocketing  sheaf  of  sparks  danced  before  her  eyes 
and  her  knees  gave  way.  She  sank  to  the  floor  in  a 
dazed  heap.  He  dragged  the  Winchester  from  her 
failing  grasp  as  she  fell. 

He  began  to  work  the  lever  of  the  rifle  with  expert 
rapidity.  A  twinkling  stream  of  cartridges  twirled 
against  his  chest  and  fell  to  the  floor.  Carefully  he 
gathered  all  the  cartridges  and  dropped  them  into  the 
side  pocket  of  his  coat.  The  unloaded  rifle  he  leaned 
against  the  door  jamb. 

Hazel  slowly  raised  her  body  to  a  sitting  position. 
She  clung  to  a  leg  of  the  table  for  support.  She 
passed  a  hand  very  tenderly  across  the  top  of  her 
head.  She  felt  a  little  nauseated. 

Dan  Slike,  watching  her  with  hard,  bright  eyes, 
strode  to  the  stove  and  poured  himself  out  a  cup  of 
coffee.  He  spaded  in  a  spoonful  of  sugar  and  stirred 
the  mixture  meditatively.  But  he  did  not  cease  to 
watch  her. 

"  You'll  be  all  right  in  about  ten  minutes,"  he  said 
calmly.  "  I  didn't  hit  you  so  awful  hard.  I  didn't  go 
to.  Gawd,  no !  I  figure  always  to  be  as  gentle  with 
a  woman  as  I  can.  No  sense  in  bein'  rougher  than 
you  got  to  be,  I  say." 

He  drank  the  coffee  slowly,  with  evident  enjoyment. 

"  Nothing  like  coffee  when  your  cork's  pulled,"  he 
rambled  on,  sloshing  round  the  last  of  the  coffee  in 
the  bottom  of  the  cup.  "  It  beats  whisky,  but  now 


272        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

that  IVe  had  the  coffee  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  Got  a 
bottle  tucked  away  somewhere,  li'l  girl?" 

She  was  still  unable  to  speak.  Her  mouth  had  an 
odd,  cottony  feeling.  She  shook  her  head  in  reply  to 
his  question. 

"  Is  that  so?"  he  said  in  the  chatty  tone  he  had 
been  using.  "  I  guess  maybe  you're  mistaken." 

He  set  the  cup  down  on  the  table,  reached  down  and 
twisted  his  fingers  into  her  hair.  With  a  yank  that 
brought  the  tears  springing  to  her  eyes,  he  said: 

"  About  that  bottle  now — ain't  you  a  mite  mis- 
taken? What's  the  matter?  Cat  got  your  tongue?  " 

Again  he  pulled  her  hair,  pulled  it  till  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks,  and  she  moaned  and  cried  in  purest 
agony. 

11  C'mon !  "  directed  Dan  Slike.  "  Quit  your  Muffin', 
you  triflin'  hussy!  You  ain't  hurt  a-tall.  And  I  can't 
stay  here  all  night  while  you  sit  on  the  floor  and  beller. 
Stand  up  on  your  two  legs  and  bring  me  that  bottle. 
And  no  monkey  business  either.  Say,  have  you  got  a 
six-shooter?  Answer  me,  have  you?" 

"  No !  No !  I  haven't !  I  haven't  another  gun." 
She  told  him  this  lie  in  such  a  heart-breaking  tone  that 
he  was  constrained  to  believe  her. 

"  I'll  have  to  take  your  word  for  it,"  he  grumbled. 
"  But  you  remember,  girl,  the  first  false  move  you  make 
with  a  knife  or  anything  else,  I'll  blow  you  apart. 
Damn  you,  get  up!  " 

With  which  he  gave  her  hair  such  a  terrific  twist 
that  the  exquisite  pain  expelled  all  her  initial  fear  of 
him,  and  she  leaped  at  him  like  a  wildcat,  her  nails 
curving  at  his  eyes. 


The  Bare-Headed  Man          273 

Dan  Slike  dodged  backward,  set  himself  and  swung 
his  right  fist  without  mercy.  He  was  no  boxer.  The 
accurate  placing  of  blows  was  beyond  him.  So  it  was 
that  the  swing  intended  for  her  jaw  landed  on  her 
cheekbone,  a  much  less  vulnerable  spot.  Nevertheless 
the  smash  was  enough  to  send  her  spinning  sidewise 
over  a  chair  and  piled  her  sicker  and  dizzier  than  be- 
fore in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

She  lay  still  and  panted. 

"  You  see  how  it  is,"  he  pointed  out.  "  You  ain't 
gainin'  a  thing  by  fighting  me.  Might  as  well  be  sensi- 
ble first  as  last.  But  lemme  tell  you  if  you  keep  on  a- 
fussin'  at  me  thisaway,  Til  sure  have  to  be  rough  with 
you." 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  rolled  a 
cigarette.  Lighting  it  he  drew  in  a  slow  luxurious 
lungful. 

"  One  thing  I  gotta  say  for  your  sheriff,"  he  ob- 
served behind  a  barrier  of  smoke,  "  he  gimme  plenty  of 
tobacco  while  I  was  his  guest.  I  can't  say  but  he 
took  right  good  care  of  me  —  for  a  sheriff." 

His  incarceration  having  deprived  Dan  Slike  of  con- 
versational opportunities,  he  was  now  experiencing  the 
natural  reaction.  He  was  talking  too  much. 

"  Fed  me  well  too,"  he  resumed.  "  Oh,  I  ain't  com- 
plainin'.  I  —  Hell,  your  grub's  beginnin  to  burn.  I'll 
just  move  those  frypans  back.  Feelin'  any  better, 

girl?" 

He  came  and  stood  over  her,  hands  on  hips,  and 
looked  down  at  her  grimly.  She  shrank  away,  her 
wide  eyes  fixed  upon  him  in  fright  and  loathing. 

It  was  evident  that  he  found  his  survey  of  her  satis- 


274        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

factory,  for  he  kicked  her  in  the  side.  Not  hard. 
Simply  as  an  earnest  of  what  lay  in  store  for  her  in 
case  she  chose  to  continue  contumacious.  "  Get  up," 
he  commanded. 

The  nausea  and  most  of  the  dizzy  feeling  had 
evaporated.  She  was  perfectly  able  to  get  up,  but  it 
was  intolerable  that  she  should  do  the  bidding  of  her 
uncle's  murderer.  She  continued  to  lie  still. 

"  Get  up!  "  he  repeated,  and  kicked  her  again  — 
harder. 

She  got  up,  gasping,  a  hand  at  her  side.  She  felt 
as  though  one  of  her  ribs  was  broken.  His  long  fingers 
fastened  on  the  tender  flesh  of  her  shoulder.  He 
shoved  her  across  the  room.  She  brought  up  against 
the  stove.  Instinctively  she  thrust  out  a  hand  to 
save  herself.  Her  bare  palm  smacked  down  upon 
the  hottest  stove  lid. 

She  sprang  back  with  a  choked  cry  and  clapped 
the  burned  hand  to  her  mouth. 

Dan  Slike  laughed  merrily  —  for  him.  "  Serve  you 
right.  You're  too  damn  pernickety,  anyway.  Aw, 
whatcha  blubberin'  about,  cry-baby?  Dontcha  know 
enough  to  put  some  bakin'  soda  on  the  burn  and  tie 
a  rag  round  it?  Ain't  you  got  any  brains  a-tall?  Pick 
up  that  kettle  !  Just  pick  it  up !  " 

Her  unburned  hand  fell  away  from  the  kettle.  She 
had  seen  the  six-shooter  flash  out  at  his  last  words. 
She  knew  now  that  this  man  meant  what  he  said.  He 
would  kill  her,  even  as  he  had  killed  her  uncle. 

With  a  shudder  that  began  at  her  knees  and  ended 
at  the  nape  of  her  neck  she  went  to  the  cupboard  and 
took  out  a  carton  of  baking  soda. 


The  Bare-Headed  Man  275 

"  Here,"  he  said  roughly,  when  he  saw  that  she 
was  making  a  poor  job  at  bandaging,  "  here,  you  can't 
tie  that  one-handed.  Lemme." 

He  bandaged  the  hand,  made  fast  the  bandage  with 
a  too-tight  knot.  He  obviously  lingered  over  the  busi- 
ness, deriving  pleasure  from  her  state  of  terror. 

It  has  been  shown  that  Hazel  was  not  lacking  in 
courage.  Indeed,  she  had  more  than  the  average  wom- 
an's share  of  it.  But  this  man  staggered  her  men- 
tally. She  did  not  know  what  he  would  do  next  and 
was  in  a  panic  accordingly. 

"  Scared  stiff,"  he  remarked,  as  he  twirled  her  about 
and  headed  her  toward  the  stove.  "  You  don't  like 
me  a-tall,  do  you  ?  Nemmine.  Lessee  how  your  grub 
tastes." 

She  had  set  the  table  for  herself  before  he  came  in. 
He  sat  down  at  her  place,  his  eyes  bright  upon  her. 
Fumblingly  she  filled  a  plate  with  bacon  and  fried 
potatoes.  She  brought  him  another  cup  of  coffee  and 
placed  the  condensed  milk  and  the  sugar  within  his 
reach. 

"  Spoon,"  he  said  shortly. 

She  took  the  one  from  the  cup  he  had  just  drunk 
from  and  handed  it  to  him.  He  caught  her  wrist. 
The  spoon  fell  with  a  clatter. 

"  You're  so  scared  of  me,  you  can't  hardly  breathe," 
he  said  calmly.  "  I  don't  like  li'l  girls  to  be  scared 
of  me,  so  you  can  just  get  you  another  plate  and  cup 
and  saucer  and  sit  down  there  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table  and  eat  your  supper  with  me." 

To  eat  supper  with  her  uncle's  murderer!  Here 
was  a  grotesque  jape  of  fate.  It  was  unthinkable. 


276        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Absolutely.  The  man  divined  something  of  what  was 
passing  in  her  mind. 

"  All  in  the  line  of  business,  li'l  girl,"  he  said,  with 
a  backward  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  front  room 
where  he  had  killed  her  uncle.  "  I  didn't  have  a  thing 
against  him  —  personally." 

"  There  were  dishes  here  on  the  table,"  she  bab- 
bled hysterically.  "  They  found  them  here  after  — 
after  —  showing  how  he'd  fed  you  first,  and " 

"  Sure  he  fed  me,"  he  interrupted.  "  I  was  hungry, 
hungrier  than  I  am  now.  Alia  same,  you  gotta  eat 
supper  with  me.  I  want  you  to,  and  I  always  get 
what  I  want." 

He  twisted  her  wrist  to  emphasize  his  wish.  She 
uttered  a  little  moan.  "  Don't!  Oh,  don't  hurt  me 
any  more !  I'll  do  what  you  want." 

Beaten,  body  and  soul,  she  went  to  the  cupboard 
and  got  herself  plate  and  cup  and  saucer,  knife  and 
fork  and  spoon.  Her  six-shooter  was  in  the  next 
room,  hanging  in  a  holster  on  the  wall.  A  loaded 
shotgun  stood  at  the  head  of  her  bed.  But  it  is  doubt- 
ful that  even  if  the  weapon  had  been  within  short 
reach,  she  would  have  dared  attempt  to  use  either. 
Dan  Slike  had  scared  her  too  much. 

She  sat  down  opposite  the  man  and  tried  to  eat. 
It  required  every  atom  of  will  power  to  induce  her 
throat  muscles  to  permit  her  to  swallow.  •  Dan  Slike 
watched  her  with  savage  satisfaction.  He  found  the 
situation  fntensely  amusing.  To  murder  her  uncle 
and  later  eat  a  meal  with  the  niece.  What  a  joke! 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  about  that  bottle,"  he  re- 
marked suddenly,  pushing  back  his  chair.  "  You 


The  Bare-Headed  Man          277 

thought  it  had  slipped  my  mind,  I  guess,  didn't  you  ? 
I  always  have  a  drink  after  meals,  or  my  victuals  don't 
set  good." 

Without  a  word  she  went  to  the  cupboard  and 
brought  back  a  bottle  of  whisky.  He  took  it  from  her 
and  held  it  up  against  the  lamplight. 

"  This  is  only  half  full,"  he  said  severely.  "  You 
got  another  round  somewhere?" 

It  was  fright  and  not  the  lie  that  made  her  stammer. 
"  Nun-no." 

Oddly  enough,  he  saw  fit  to  believe  her.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  he  had  just  eaten  and  was  at  bodily  ease 
with  the  world.  She  stood  before  him,  arms  limp, 
eyes  on  the  floor.  He  drew  the  cork  from  the  bottle 
and  took  a  long  pull. 

"  Good  whisky,"  he  vouchsafed  between  the  third 
and  fourth  drags.  "  I'll  take  what's  left  with  me  — 
if  you  don't  mind." 

He  was  going  then !  Her  poor  terrified  heart  beat 
with  a  trifle  more  spirit.  She  looked  up.  Their  eyes 
met. 

"  Don't  look  so  happy!  "  he  snarled.  "  Maybe  I'll 
take  you  with  me !  " 

He  eyed  her  discomfiture  with  a  sinister  look.  He 
uttered  a  short  bark  of  a  laugh.  "  Dontcha  fret.  I 
ain't  got  time  to  fuss  with  any  female.  Not  that  I 
would,  even  if  I  had  time,  so  don't  go  flatterin'  your- 
self any.  Women  ain't  in  my  line.  You're  all  a  squall- 
ing  bunch  of  Gawd's  mistakes,  every  last  one  of  you, 
and  you  can  stick  a  pin  in  that.  Women?  Phutt!  " 

So  saying,  Dan  Slike  turned  his  head  slightly  and 


278        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

spat  accurately  through  the  open  draft  into  the  stove. 
An  engaging  gentleman,  Mr.  Slike ! 

"  I  saw  two  mules  and  a  horse  in  the  corral  when 
I  came  by,"  he  resumed,  dandling  the  whisky  bottle 
on  his  knee.  "  Looks  like  a  good  horse  —  better  than 
the  one  I  left  up  in  the  timber.  Til  ride  your  horse 
and  lead  the  other.  Where  do  you  keep  your  saddle 
and  bridle?  In  the  shed,  huh?  Aw  right,  you  can 
show  me  when  we  go  out.  Listen,  I  expect  to-morrow 
some  time  you'll  have  a  few  gents  a-callin'  on  you. 
Yeah,  to-morrow.  It'll  likely  take  those  Golden  Bar 
citizens  till  about  then  to  pick  up  my  trail.  You  needn't 
to  look  too  hopeful.  Those  jiggers  don't  know  they're 
alive.  I  saw  'em  scatterin'  off  hell-bent  the  wrong 
way  before  I  ever  started  this  way,  you  bet.  Why, 
hells  bells,  I  even  topped  a  horse  behind  a  corral  with 
the  woman  right  in  the  house  gettin'  supper,  and  she 
never  knowed  it.  Tell  you,  girl,  I'm  slick.  And  if  I 
didn't  have  more  sense  in  the  tip  of  my  finger  than 
all  those  fellers  and  their  li'l  tin  sheriff  and  his  li'l 
tin  deputies,  I'd  be  a  heap  ashamed  of  myself.  Say  — 
about  that  sheriff;  I  heard  folks  talkin'  in  the  street 
this  afternoon  and  they  said  the  sheriff  had  skedaddled 
because  he'd  murdered  a  sport  named  O'Gorman.  A 
fi-ine  sheriff  he  is,  to  slop  around  turnin'  tricks  like 
that.  A  fi-ine  sheriff,  and  you  can  tell  him  I  said  so." 

He  drove  in  the  cork  with  the  heel  of  his  hand  and 
slipped  the  bottle  into  a  side  pocket  of  his  coat. 
Standing  up,  he  tapped  her  smartly  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Get  me  that  hat  over  there  on  the  hook.  I  left 
town  in  such  a  hurry  I  clean  forgot  to  fetch  mine 
along." 


The  Bare-Headed  Man  279 

Silently  she  brought  the  hat. 

u  Why  do  you  women  always  wear  hats  too  big  for 
you?"  he  grumbled,  after  trying  it  on.  "I  couldn't 
keep  this  thing  on  my  head." 

She  had  brought  an  Omaha  newspaper  from  town 
that  day.  It  lay  outspread  on  the  table.  He  tore  off 
a  half  page,  plaited  it  neatly  and  stuffed  the  thickened 
strip  in  behind  the  sweatband  of  the  hat. 

"  It  will  fit  me  now,"  he  said  briskly,  pulling  on  the 
hat.  "  Gimme  those  cantenas  and  saddle  pockets 
hanging  on  the  wall." 

She  obeyed  stumblingly.  Into  the  cantenas,  from 
her  store  of  provisions,  he  packed  bacon,  coffee,  a  sack 
of  flour  a  third  full,  a  tin  can  full  of  salt,  another 
can  filled  with  matches,  a  salt  pack  full  of  sugar,  sev- 
eral cans  of  tomatoes  and  peaches,  a  frying-pan  and 
a  small  can  of  lard.  In  the  saddle  pockets  he  stowed 
away  the  twelve  boxes  of  rifle  cartridges,  the  six  boxes 
of  revolver  cartridges  and  a  knife,  fork  and  spoon. 
The  long-bladed  butcher  knife  he  nonchalantly  slipped 
down  his  boot-leg. 

"  I'll  tie  the  coffe  pot  on  the  saddle,"  he  said,  buck- 
ling the  billet  of  a  cantena  flap.  "  It's  too  wet  to  go 
in  here.  Can't  take  a  chance  on  spoiling  my  flour. 
C'mon,  le's  go  find  the  saddle." 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

THE    PERSISTENT   SUITOR 

"  You  see,"  said  Dan  Slike,  as  he  topped  his  mount, 
" 1  ain't  really  been  hard  on  you.  I  didn't  ask  you 
for  a  nickel.  I  only  took  what  I  needed.  And  if  you 
hadn't  fought  me  like  you  did,  I  wouldn't  have  laid  a 
finger  on  you.  Think  of  that  and  be  happy." 

He  whirled  the  horse  and  rode  away  toward  the 
lower  ground  behind  the  house,  the  coffeepot  clacking 
rhythmically  against  the  barrel  of  the  Winchester  Hazel 
had  vainly  hoped  he  would  forget  to  take  with  him. 

Hazel  remained  standing  beside  the  corral  gate. 
Suddenly  she  was  conscious  of  a  great  weariness.  She 
was  as  one  who  has  traveled  a  day's  journey  without 
food.  Her  arms  and  legs  were  leaden.  Her  head 
ached,  her  body  ached,  her  spirit  ached. 

With  dragging  steps  she  returned  to  the  house. 
From  the  cupboard  she  brought  forth  the  bottle  of 
whisky  she  had  lied  to  save  and  poured  a  stiff  four 
fingers  into  a  teacup.  She  drank  off  the  liquor  in  three 
gulps.  But  she  was  so  spent  that,  other  than  a  fit  of 
coughing,  there  was  no  effect. 

The  lamp  was  burning  low  and  fitfully,  filling  the 
kitchen  with  a  smell  of  burning  wicking.  She  had  for- 
gotten to  refill  it  that  morning.  She  put  away  the 
whisky  bottle,  turned  out  the  lamp  and  filled  it  by  the 


The  Persistent  Suitor  281 

faint  light  from  an  opened  draft-chink.  But  in  reach- 
ing for  the  chimney,  she  knocked  it  to  the  floor  and 
broke  it. 

Apathetically,  every  movement  mechanical,  she  found 
another  chimney  and  adjusted  it  in  the  clamps.  A 
smell  of  burned  hair  suddenly  filled  her  nostrils.  A 
lock  of  hair  had  fallen  against  the  lamp  chimney. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  head.  Her  hair  was  in  a 
slovenly  tangle  over  one  ear.  She  did  it  up  any  way 
and  skewered  it  fast  with  a  few  pins. 

Crunch !  The  remains  of  the  lamp  chimney  crackled 
under  foot.  She  brought  out  the  dustpan  and  brushed 
and  swept  up  the  pieces.  She  carried  the  broken  glass 
out  to  the  trash  pile.  When  she  returned  to  the 
kitchen,  there  was  a  man  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

Nothing  had  the  power  to  surprise  her  now.  She 
would  not  have  been  amazed  had  the  devil  himself 
popped  into  the  room.  The  man  turned  at  her  entry. 
He  was  Rafe  Tuckleton.  He  glowered  down  at  her. 
She  shut  the  door  and  put  away  the  dustpan  and  brush 
behind  the  wood-box. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked  lifelessly. 

"  Who's  been  here?"  he  demanded,  pointing  an 
accusing  finger  at  the  table.  "Two  plates,  two  cups, 
two  saucers  —  who  you  been  entertaining?" 

Entertaining!  Good  Lord!  Hazel  sat  down  on 
the  wood-box  and  laughed  hysterically. 

He  was  around  the  table  and  confronting  her  in 
three  strides.  "Who's  been  here?"  he  kept  at  her. 

"  Dan  Slike,"  she  said  with  a  spasmodic  giggle. 

"  You're  a  liar,"  he  told  her  promptly.    "  Dan  Slike 


282        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

didn't  come  this  way.  He  —  he  went  another  way. 
There's  a  posse  on  his  trail  now.  You've  had  Bill 
Wingo  here,  that's  whatsamatter." 

"  I  haven't,"  she  denied,  wagging  her  head  at  him. 
"  Dan  Slike  was  here,  I  tell  you." 

"  The  hell  he  was.  You  must  think  I'm  a  fool.  Bill 
Wingo's  been  here,  I  tell  you.  Think  I  don't  know, 
huh,  you  deceivin'  hussy!  Trying  to  make  small  of 
me,  carryin'  on  with  other  men,  huh?  " 

She  said  nothing.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  heard  him, 
for  all  his  roaring  voice  and  gesturing  fists.  Billy 
Wingo !  Her  Billy  —  once.  He  had  loved  her  too  — 
once.  What  a  queer,  queer  world  it  was.  Everybody 
and  everything  at  cross-purposes.  Yet  there  was  a 
reason  for  it  all.  Must  be.  Even  a  reason  for  Rafe. 
She  looked  up  at  Rafe.  He  was  glaring  down  at  her 
with  a  most  villainous  expression  on  his  lean  features. 

"How  long  has  Bill  Wingo  been  gone?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"  It  wasn't  Bill,"  she  insisted  doggedly.  "  It  was 
Dan  Slike,  and  he's  been  gone  maybe  half  an  hour." 

"  Say,  whatsa  use  of  lyin'  to  me?  You're  an  odd 
number,  by  all  accounts,  but  you  ain't  so  odd  you  could 
sit  here  and  eat  and  drink  and  carry  on  with  your 
uncle's  murderer.  You  can't  tell  me  that." 

She  was  regarding  him  with  curious  eyes.  "  I 
thought  you  always  said  Dan  Slike  didn't  kill  my 
uncle?" 

*  Well  —  uh  —  you  see,  everybody  else  seems  to 
think  he  did.  And  —  ah  —  maybe  I  was  wrong.  Anyr 
way,  say  I  was.  For  all  I  know  to  the  contrary,  he 
did  kill  your  uncle.  What's  fairer  than  that,  I'd  like 


The  Persistent  Suitor  283 

to  know?     You  think  he  killed  Tom  Walton,  don't 
you?" 

She  continued  to  stare  at  Rafe.  "  I  know  he  did.11 
'  Then  how  do  you  expect  me  to  believe  you  ate} 
supper  with  him  ?  You're  foolish.  You  had  Bill  Wingo 
here,  and  we'll  settle  this  Wingo  business  right  now. 
You  see,  don't  you,  how  you  can  never  marry  the  fel- 
ler? This  Tip  O'Gorman  murder  has  queered  him 
round  here  for  keeps.  Sooner  or  later  he'll  hang  for 

it.      You'd   look   fine   wouldn't   you,    the   widow   of 
a » 

"  Don't  say  it,"  she  cut  him  short.  "  Billy  Wingo 
is  no  murderer.  He  fights  fair,  which  is  more  than  I 
can  say  for  you.  However,  you  can  set  your  mind  at 
rest.  I'm  not  likely  to  marry  Billy  Wingo,  or  anybody 
else." 

'Then  what  do  you  care  whether  I  call  him  a 
murderer  or  not,  if  you  don't  love  him?  "  he  probed. 
"  I  thought  a  while  back  you  had  taken  my  advice  and 
busted  it  off  with  Bill,  but  now  after  hearin'  what  you 
tried  to  do  to  Nate  Samson,  and  all  that  ammunition 
and  grub  you  bought  to-day,  the  day  after  Tip  was 
killed,  why  I  began  to  think  maybe  you  was  startin' 
in  to  play  the  Jack  again.  I  told  you  last  fall  I  was 
gonna  have  you  myself.  You  ain't  forgot  it,  have 
you?" 

His  eyes,  savage  and  mean,  held  hers  steadily.  "  I 
come  over  here,  to-night  to  get  you.  I'm  taking  you 
back  with  me  to-night  to  my  ranch.  To-morrow  you 
can  marry  me  or  not.  It'll  be  just  as  you  say." 

"  You're  taking  me  to  your  ranch !  "  she  gasped. 
"'Met'". 


284        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

He  nodded.     "  You,  nobody  else." 

She  laughed  harshly  without  a  note  of  hysteria. 
"  You're  two  hundred  years  behind  the  times.  Men 
don't  carry  off  their  women  any  more." 

"  Here's  one  that  will,"  he  told  her.  "  You're 
going  with  me,  y'understand.  And  you  needn't  stop  to 
wash  your  face  or  change  into  petticoats  either.  I'm 
not  letting  you  out  of  my  sight.  If  you  wanna  take 
any  extra  duds  along,  you  can  wrap  'em  up.  What's 
the  answer  —  you  going  willing  or  will  I  have  to  tie 
you  up  in  a  bundle?  " 

"  You  idiot,  even  your  friends  wouldn't  stand  you 
turning  such  a  trick  as  this !  I'll  bet  you  couldn't  get 
your  own  men  to  help  you.  That's  why  you  had  to 
come  alone." 

His  suddenly  bloating  features  gave  evidence  that 
her  shot  had  told.  Bending  down,  he  shook  her  shoul- 
der roughly.  And  now  for  the  first  time  she  smelt  his 
breath.  It  was  rank  with  the  raw  odor  of  whisky. 
So  that  was  what  had  given  him  the  wild  idea  of  carry- 
ing her  off  by  force.  The  man  was  drunk.  Sober, 
he  was  bad  enough.  Drunk,  he  was  capable  of  any- 
thing. 

She  reached  stoveward  for  the  lid  lifter.  Rafe 
seized  her  wrist  and  jerked  her  sidewise. 

;'  None  of  that!"  he  snarled.  "  Gonna  get  your 
clothes  or  not?  " 

"  I'll  get  them,"  she  said  calmly.     "  Let  go  of  my 


wrist." 


If  she  could  win  into  the  next  room  where  the  six- 
shooter  was  hanging  on  the  wall,  it  might  be  possible 
to  —  but  he  did  not  release  her  wrist. 


The  Persistent  Suitor  285 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  he  told  her  with  a  leer.  "  You're 
too  slippery  a  customer  to  trust  alone." 

As  he  turned  with  her,  the  lamplight  fell  full  on  his 
face,  and  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  bloodshot!  He 
also  saw  something  that  had  hitherto  escaped  his  no- 
tice. He  saw  the  whisky  bottle  on  the  shelf  in  the 
cupboard.  She  had  neglected  to  close  the  cupboard 
door. 

"  I'll  have  a  short  drink  first,"  he  said,  and  dragged 
her  to  the  cupboard. 

He  was  holding  her  left-handed.  She  was  on  the 
wrong  side  to  reach  his  gun.  Nevertheless  she  swung 
her  body  in  front  of  him  and  snatched  wildly  at  the 
pistol  butt. 

He  did  not  divine  her  intention  but  thought  she  was 
trying  to  keep  him  away  from  the  whisky.  The  re- 
sult was  the  same,  for  he  wrenched  her  back  with  a 
twist  that  started  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Holding  the  bottle  in  one  hand,  he  drew  the  cork 
with  his  teeth,  spat  it  out  and  applied  his  lips  to  the 
bottle  neck.  He  swallowed  long  and  generously. 
Hazel  saw  his  Adam's  apple  slide  up  and  down  a 
dozen  times.  At  such  a  rate  the  man  would  be  a 
fiend  in  no  time. 

"  Let  me  get  my  clothes,"  she  begged. 

Anything  to  get  him  away  from  the  liquor.  But 
Rafe  was  not  so  easily  separated  from  his  old  friend. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  he  said  peevishly,  lowering  the 
bottle  and  fixing  her  with  his  bloodshot  gaze.  "  Don't 
be  in  such  a  hurry.  Here,  have  one  yourself." 

He  thrust  the  bottle  toward  her.  She  took  it  from 
him,  held  it  to  her  mouth  and  then  the  bottle  seemed 


286        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

to  slip  from  her  fingers.  She  snatched  at  it,  juggled 
it  a  split  second  and  —  the  bottle  smashed  in  bits  on 
a  corner  of  the  stove. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry!  "  she  cried,  quite  as  if  she  had 
not  contrived  the  catastrophe  on  purpose. 

"  I'll  make  you  sorrier!  "  Rafe  exclaimed  and  with- 
out more  ado  cast  both  arms  around  her. 

He  was  striving  to  kiss  her  and  she,  face  crushed 
against  his  rough  shirt,  fought  him  like  the  primeval 
female  every  woman  becomes  in  like  circumstances. 
Her  right  hand  clawed  upward  at  his  face.  Her  left 
arm,  doubled  between  their  two  bodies,  she  strove  to 
work  free  so  that  she  could  grab  his  gun. 

Rafe  received  three  distinct  clawings  that  consider- 
ably altered  the  appearance  of  one  side  of  his  face, 
before  he  was  able  to  confine  those  active  fingers. 

"  Here !  "  he  bawled  in  a  fury.     "  I'll  fix  you !  " 

He  tried  to  seize  her  by  the  throat  and  his  thumb 
slipped  by  mistake  into  her  mouth.  She  promptly 
clamped  down  hard  on  the  thumb.  With  a  yell,  Rafe 
released  his  grip  on  her  body  and  worked  a  thumb  and 
ring  finger  into  her  cheeks  in  a  frantic  effort  to  force 
open  her  locked  jaws. 

Suddenly  she  opened  her  mouth.  Rafe  sprang  back 
a  yard,  shaking  a  bleeding  thumb  and  swearing,  and 
as  he  sprang  she  dragged  the  six-shooter  from  his 
holster. 

Her  palm  swept  down  to  cock  the  gun.  But  Rafe 
was  as  quick  to  see  his  danger  as  Dan  Slike  had  been. 
He  made  a  long  arm  as  he  hurled  himself  at  her  and 
knocked  the  barrel  to  one  side  at  the  moment  of  the 


The  Persistent  Suitor  287 

shot.  Before  she  could  fire  again,  he  had  torn  the 
weapon  from  her  grasp  and  flung  it  across  the  room. 

"  You  tried  to  murder  me  I  "  he  panted.  "  You 
tried  to  murder  me !  " 

She  dived  headlong  beneath  his  arm,  but  he  caught 
the  slack  of  her  overalls  as  she  went  by  and  dragged 
her  to  a  standstill.  She  immediately  butted  him  in 
the  stomach  with  her  head.  He  stumbled  back  but 
caught  her  arm.  Her  head  flashed  down  and  her  teeth 
fastened  on  his  wrist.  Again  he  broke  the  grip  of  her 
teeth  by  the  application  of  ring  finger  and  thumb  to 
her  cheeks,  and  then  he  reached  purposefully  for  her 
throat  and  began  to  strangle  her  in  dead  earnest. 

She  kicked  and  thrashed  about  like  a  wild  thing  in 
a  trap,  —  as  indeed  she  was.  Her  nails  scratched 
desperately  at  his  arms.  She  might  as  well  have  been 
petting  him.  Tighter  and  tighter  became  the  choking 
grasp  of  those  long  fingers.  She  could  not  breathe. 
Her  temples  were  bursting.  Her  head  felt  like  a  bal- 
loon. With  her  last  flare-up  of  failing  strength,  she 
kicked  him  on  the  knee-cap. 

He  jumped  back  against  the  wall,  dragging  her  with 
him,  and  began  to  shake  her  as  a  dog  does  a  rat. 
And  then  the  old  Terry  clock  did  that  for  which  it 
surely  must  have  been  originally  made.  For,  as  his 
shoulders  struck  the  wall,  his  head  knocked  away  the 
support  of  the  bracket  that  held  the  clock.  Involun- 
tarily he  ducked  his  head.  It  was  the  worst  thing 
he  could  have  done,  giving,  as  it  did,  the  clock  an  extra 
foot  to  fall.  It  fell.  One  corner  struck  him  fairly 
on  the  temple  and  knocked  him  cold  as  a  wedge. 

When  Hazel's  reeling  senses  had  reestablished  their 


288        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

equilibrium,  she  found  herself  on  the  floor,  lying  across 
the  inert  legs  of  Rafe  Tuckleton.  She  raised  herself 
on  her  two  arms  and  looked  at  him.  He  was  breath- 
ing very  lightly.  It  occurred  to  her  that  it  would  not 
worry  her  overmuch  if  he  breathed  not  at  all. 

She  dragged  herself  on  hands  and  knees  to  where 
he  had  thrown  his  six-shooter.  She  picked  it  up  and 
threw  out  the  cylinder.  Evidently  Rafe  was  accus- 
tomed to  carry  his  hammer  on  an  empty  chamber,  for 
there  were  four  cartridges  and  a  spent  shell  in  the  cyl- 
inder. She  ejected  the  spent  shell,  crawled  back  to  the 
senseless  Rafe  and  plucked  two  cartridges  from  his 
belt. 

She  loaded  those  two  empty  chambers  and  cccked 
the  gun.  Then  she  pulled  herself  up  into  a  chair  at 
the  table,  and  leaning  across  the  cloth,  trained  the  six- 
shooter  on  Rafe's  stomach. 

And  as  she  sat  there  watching  a  senseless  man 
through  the  gunsights,  it  suddenly  seemed  to  her  that 
she  was  not  one  person,  but  two,  —  herself  and  a 
stranger.  And  the  Hazel  Walton  that  had  gone 
through  the  evening's  adventures  was  the  stranger. 
She  herself  apparently  stood  at  one  side  observing. 
But  she  saw  the  room  and  its  contents  with  new  eyes, 
the  eyes  of  the  stranger.  It  was  a  most  amazing  feel- 
ing, and  she  was  oddly  frightened  while  it  lasted. 

Slowly  the  feeling  passed  as  her  muscles  renewed 
their  strength,  and  her  jangled  nerves  steadied  and 
quieted.  She  came  back  to  herself  with  a  jerk  as  Rafe 
Tuckleton  stirred  and  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  She 
saw  the  hand  come  away  covered  with  blood.  That 


The  Persistent  Suitor  289 

side  of  Rafe's  head  being  in  the  shadow  she  had  not 
previously  noted  that  it  had  sustained  a  shrewd  cut. 

Rafe  groaned  a  little.  He  rolled  over  and  sat  up, 
his  chin  sagging  forward  on  his  chest.  He  moved  his 
head  and  looked  at  her  vacantly.  The  blood  ran  down 
his  cheek  and  dripped  slowly  off  his  chin. 

The  light  of  reason  glared  of  a  sudden  in  Rafe's 
eyes.  She  could  see  that  he  was  absorbing  the  situa- 
tion from  every  angle. 

"  I'll  give  you  five  minutes  to  pull  yourself  together 
and  get  out,"  she  announced  clearly.  "  If  you're  still 
here  by  the  time  I've  counted  three  hundred  I'll  begin 
to  shoot." 

Rafe  started  to  go  by  the  time  she  reached  sixty. 
With  the  six-shooter  pointing  at  the  small  of  his  back, 
her  finger  on  the  trigger,  step  by  step  she  drove  him 
out  of  the  house  to  where  he  had  left  his  horse. 

Hazel  watched  him  ride  away  and  after  a  little 
become  at  one  with  the  moonlit  landscape.  She 
walked  back  to  the  house.  She  felt  that  she  was  tak- 
ing enormous  strides.  In  reality  she  was  stepping 
short  and  staggering  badly.  She  went  into  the  kitchen. 
She  closed  the  door,  dropped  the  bar  into  place  and 
fell  into  the  nearest  chair. 

"  My  God!  "  she  said  aloud,  "  I  wonder  what  will 
happen  next?  " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

A  DISCOVERY 

"I  TELL  you  I  ain't  satisfied,"  nagged  the  district 
attorney. 

"  Say  something  new,"  growled  that  amiable  person, 
Felix  Craft. 

"  If  you  fellers  weren't  blinded  by  a  pretty  face, 
you'd  see  it  like  I  do." 

"  The  girl  said  those  cartridges  were  for  her  own 
personal  use."  pointed  out  Sam  Larder,  scratching  a 
plump  ear.  "  I  believe  that  girl." 

"  You  can't  believe  any  girl  most  of  the  time," 
denied  the  district  attorney. 

"  And  where  a  girl's  feller  is  concerned,  you  can't 
believe  her  any  of  the  time.  Sam,  can't  you  under- 
stand a  girl  will  lie  just  for  the  fun  of  it,  if  she  hasn't 
any  other  reason.  It's  female  nature  to  act  that  way. 
You've  got  to  take  it  into  consideration  and  make 
allowances  accordingly,  when  dealing  with  a  woman. 
You  can't  trust  'em,  damn  'em,  one  li'l  short  inch." 

Sam  grinned  at  Felix,  "  Ain't  he  got  a  pleasant 
nature." 

"  Milk  of  human  kindness  has  curdled  in  him  com- 
plete," declared  Felix 

"  Never  you  mind  about  any  milk  of  human  kind- 


A  Discovery  291 

ness.  I  ain't  got  a  smidgin  of  it  with  a  girl  like  Hazel 
Walton,  the  lying  hussy." 

"  Do  you  know,  Arthur,"  said  Sam  solemnly,  "  I 
don't  believe  you  like  that  lady." 

"  I  don't,"  admitted  the  district  attorney,  and  won- 
dered why  both  men  laughed. 

"  Be  a  Scotchman,"  advised  Sam  Larder,  "  and  give 
her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt." 

'  I'd  like  to  give  her  a  good  swift  week  or  two  in 
jail,"  snarled  the  district  attorney.  "  That  would 
bring  her  to  her  senses.  That  would  make  her  talk." 

4  Well,  you  can't  do  it,"  said  Felix,  weary  of  the 
argument.  "  So  why  waste  your  breath?" 

uTell  you  what  I  can  do,"  said  the  district  attorney, 
brightening  with  hope.  "  I  can  go  out  to  Walton's 
and  question  her  some  more." 

"  Good  Gawd,  ain't  you  had  enough  ridin'  for  one 
day?  "  said  Sam. 

"  I'm  good  for  a  li'l  bit  more." 

Felix  laughed.  "  I  had  to  laugh  to-day.  First  time 
you  ever  went  out  with  a  posse,  I  guess.  Guess  they 
must  have  thought  you  were  crazy." 

"  I  know  damwell  Shotgun  and  Riley  Tyler  thought 
so,"  declared  Sam.  "  They  kept  a-looking  at  you  al- 
mighty hard." 

The  district  attorney  nodded.  "  They're  a  suspi- 
cious pair,  those  two.  I'll  give  you  fellers  credit.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  you,  I'd  never  have  been  able  to  bluff 
it  through!  I  don't  think  anybody  suspects  anything 
out  of  the  way." 

"  Only  that  you're  a  damfool,  Arthur.  And  they 
don't  suspect  that.  They're  absolutely  sure  of  it." 


292        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Alia  same,"  said  Felix,  "  it's  a  good  thing  Sam 
Prescott  wasn't  along.  It  would  have  been  just  like 
him  to  make  out  those  tracks  we  followed  were  a  day 
old  instead  of  one  hour." 

"  I  was  worried  some,"  admitted  the  district  attor- 
ney, "  when  Shotgun  Shillman  said  they  were  too  old 
to  be  the  marks  of  Dan  Slike's  horse." 

"  That  didn't  bother  me,"  declared  Felix.  "  I  knew 
it  would  be  all  right  if  we  could  contradict  him  fast 
enough  and  loud  enough  before  anybody  else  could 
agree  with  him.  Folks  are  like  sheep  thataway. 
They'll  most  always  believe  the  boys  makin'  the  most 
noise.  No,  Shotgun  didn't  bother  me  any.  What 
made  me  feel  like  scratching  my  head  was  where  the 
tracks  crossed  the  stage  trail.  There  were  the  hoof- 
marks  and  wheeltracks  of  the  stage  overlying  the 
horse-tracks  we  were  following.  I  drew  a  long  breath 
when  I  had  'em  blotted  out,  you  can  gamble  on  that." 

"  Was  that  why  you  rode  ahead  and  twisted  your 
horse  round  and  round  on  the  trail  so  funny?  " 

"  Sure  that  was  why.     Why  else  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  the  stage  passing,"  said  the 
district  attorney. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't,  of  course  not.  I  don't  see, 
Arthur,  when  you  made  those  tracks  so  careful  in  the 
first  place  you  couldn't  have  kept  off  the  stage  trail. 
It  wasn't  necessary,  and  it  mighty  near  put  the  kibosh 
on  the  whole  deal." 

"  I  wanted  to  end  the  trail  in  the  west  fork  of  the 
Wagonjack,"  defended  the  district  attorney.  "  It 
seemed  like  a  good  place." 

"  It  was  —  only   for  the   stage   trail  being  in  the 


A  Discovery  293 

way,"  said  Felix  warmly.  "  If  that  infernal  Wildcat 
Simms  had  come  up  half-a-minute  earlier  he'd  seen 
how  those  horse  tracks  lay,  same  as  I  did.  Oh,  lovely ! 
Wouldn't  it  have  been  a  joke  ?  " 

'  Well,  it  ended  all  right,  anyway/'  offered  the  dis- 
trict attorney  pacifically. 

:*  I  didn't  like  to  have  that  Slike  jigger  get  off  that- 
away,"  grumbled  Sam  Larder.  "  I'd  like  to  see  him 
hung,  the  lousy  murderer!  I  wish  we  could  have 
worked  it  some  other  way." 

4  There  wasn't  any  other  way,"  the  district  attor- 
ney hastened  to  assure  him.  "  We  couldn't  risk  hav- 
ing Slike  tried.  He'd  have  snitched  on  Rafe  Tuckle- 
ton,  sure  as  fate.  It  was  the  only  thing  for  us  to  do, 
and  you  know  it." 

Sam  nodded.     "  I  know,  but "     He  left  the 

sentence  unfinished. 

"  Now  that  we've  got  Dan  out  of  the  way,"  the 
district  attorney  pattered  on,  "  we've  got  to  glom  onto 
Bill  Wingo,  and  the  sooner  the  quicker.  Me,  I'm 
going  out  to  Walton's  to-night  and  question  Hazel 
some  more.  You  boys  don't  have  to  go,  you  know. 
I  can  get  hold  of  somebody,  I  guess." 

"  We'll  go,"  said  Sam  Larder  decidedly.  "  I  ain't 
a  heap  attracted  by  your  methods  with  the  ladies,  and 
I  intend  to  see  the  girl  gets  a  square  deal." 

"  Me  too,"  chimed  in  Felix  Craft. 

The  district  attorney  was  none  too  well  pleased  and 
showed  it.  "  I'll  get  two  other  jiggers  then,"  he 
grumbled. 

"  Why  not  another  posse?  "  suggested  the  sarcastic 


294        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Mr.  Larder.     "  Us  three  might  not  be  able  to  handle 
her  by  ourselves." 

"  Suppose  Bill  Wingo  is  there,  then  what?  We 
took  a  big  bunch  before  and " 

"  And  got  damwell  laughed  at  by  the  whole  town 
for  our  trouble,"  snapped  Sam.  "  Serves  us  right. 
Wild  goose  chase,  anyway,  and  to-night  will  be  an- 
other. Cmon,  if  you're  goin'." 

The  moon  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  the  three 
men  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  draw  leading  to  the 
Walton  ranch.  A  quarter-mile  up  'this  draw  they 
came  upon  a  man  standing  beside  a  horse.  This  man 
they  surrounded  immediately.  He  proved  to  be  the 
town  marshal,  Red  Herring,  engaged  in  the  prosaic 
business  of  tightening  a  slipped  cinch. 

1  What  are  you  doing  here,"  demanded  the  district 
attorney. 

"  Same  thing  you're  doing,"  the  marshal  returned 
sulkily. 

"  It  ain't  necessary  for  you  to  be  watching  the  Wal- 
ton ranch,"  said  the  crotchety  district  attorney. 

"  I  got  as  much  right  to  the  reward  as  the  next  one, 
I  guess,"  flared  the  marshal.  "  If  I  wanna  watch  the 
ranch,  I  guess  I  got  a  right  to  do  that  too.  You 
don't  want  to  cherish  any  idea  that  you  own  the  earth 
and  me  too,  Artie  Rale!  " 

'  Well,  you  can  ride  along  with  us  if  you  want  to," 
condescended  the  district  attorney. 

'*  Thanks,"  said  the  marshal,  with  sarcasm,  "  I  kind 
of  thought  I  would,  anyway." 

Two  hundred  yards  short  of  the  bend  in  the  draw 
that  concealed  the  ranchhouse  from  view  the  district 


A  Discovery  295 

attorney's  horse  which  was  leading,  snorted  at  some- 
thing that  lay  across  his  path,  and  shied  with  great 
vigor,  coming  within  a  red  hair  of  throwing  the  dis- 
trict attorney  off  on  his  ear. 

The  district  attorney  swore  and  jerked  the  animal 
back.  Then  he  dismounted  hurriedly  and  ran  for- 
ward to  view  at  close  range  the  object  that  had  startled 
the  horse. 

The  three  others  pulled  up  and  followed  his  ex- 
ample. 

"  My  Gawd!  "  shrilled  the  district  attorney.  "  It's 
Rafe  Tuckleton!" 

It  was  indeed  Rafe  Tuckleton.  There  he  lay  on  his 
back,  his  legs  and  arms  spread-eagled  abroad,  his  body 
displaying  the  flattened  appearance  a  corpse  assumes 
for  the  first  few  hours  after  death.  Rafe's  throat 
had  been  slit  from  ear  to  ear.  His  head  was  cut 
open  and  lay  in  a  pool  of  blood.  His  face  was  scored 
with  scratches.  There  was  blood  on  his  coat  and  vest 
and  shirt,  they  found  on  examination.  The  district 
attorney  ripped  open  the  shirt  and  found  four  distinct 
stab  wounds  in  the  region  of  Rafe's  heart.  From  one 
of  these  wounds  protruded  the  broken  end  of  a  broad- 
bladed  knife. 

"  Pull  it  out,"  urged  Sam  Larder,  with  a  slight 
shudder,  his  fat  face  so  white  that  it  showed  green 
in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  can't,"  said  the  district  attorney.  "  Jammed  in 
between  his  ribs,  I  guess.  That's  what  busted  her. 
See  if  you  can  find  the  handle,  Red." 

"There  it  is,"  pointed  out  the  marshal.  '4  Right 
by  his  elbow." 


296        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Oh,  yeah/'  said  the  district  attorney,  picking  up 
the  knife  handle.  From  force  of  habit  he  fitted  the 
broken  part  of  the  knife  remaining  attached  to  the 
handle  to  the  part  protruding  from  the  wound.  Of 
course  they  fitted  perfectly. 

The  marshal  ran  his  hand  along  Rafe's  naked 
waist.  Then  he  lifted  one  of  Rafe's  arms  and  let  it 
go.  The  army  snapped  stiffly  back  into  position. 

"  Been  dead  about  two  hours/'  proffered  the  mar- 
shal. 

"  About  that,"  agreed  Felix.  "  What  you  lookin' 
at,  Arthur?  " 

"  This,"  replied  the  district  attorney,  holding  up 
the  handle  of  the  butcher  knife. 

With  his  fingers  he  traced  two  initials  on  the  wood. 
The  initials  were  T.  W. 

u  You  can't  tell  me,"  said  the  district  attorney  bel- 
ligerently, "  that  this  butcher  knife  didn't  come  from 
the  Walton  ranch." 

Sam  Larder  stated  his  belief  at  once.  "  She 
couldn't  have  done  it,  Arthur.  Why  Rafe's  carved 
up  like  an  issue  steer.  She " 

"  She's  a  woman,"  interrupted  the  district  attor- 
ney. u  And  a  woman  will  do  anything  when  her 
dander  is  up.  And  we  know  what  this  particular 
woman  will  do  when  she's  mad.  Didn't  she  try 
to  split  open  Nate  Samson's  head  when  he  was 
hardly  more  than  joking  with  her?  Didn't  she  throw 
down  on  us  with  a  rifle  without  any  excuse  a-tall?  I 
tell  you  this  Hazel  Walton  is  a  murderess,  and  I'm 
going  to  see  her  hung." 

uAre   you?"   said  Felix   Craft.     "  Seems   to   me 


A  Discovery  297 

you've  overlooked  a  bet.  Didn't  we  run  across  Red 
Herring  at  the  end  of  the  draw?  " 

"  Now  look  here,  Craft,"  cried  the  marshal.  "  You 
can't  hook  this  killing  up  with  me !  I  can  prove  I  was 
in  Golden  Bar  an  hour  ago.  I  can  get  people  to  swear 
I  was." 

The  district  attorney  nodded.  "  Red's  innocent  of 
this,  all  right.  He  couldn't  have  done  it.  It  wouldn't 
be  reasonable.  He  always  was  friendly  with  Rafe, 
and  this  was  a  grudge  killing.  It  couldn't  have  been 
robbery,  because  nothing  of  Rafe's  was  stolen;  watch, 
money,  it's  all  here.  It's  Hazel  Walton,  and  you 
can  stick  a  pin  in  that.  C'mon,  let's  go." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

THE  DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S   NIGHTMARE 

BEHIND  the  corral  of  Guerilla  Melody,  at  the  tip 
end  of  Golden  Bar,  Main  Street,  a  small  spring  bub- 
bled to  life  amid  rocks.  It  was  the  custom  of  Guerilla 
Melody  to  slip  out  to  this  spring  for  a  long  cool  drink 
of  fresh  water  each  night  before  going  to  bed. 

On  the  night  of  the  first  of  April,  Guerilla,  having 
spent  a  short  but  profitable  poker  evening  with  several 
friends  in  a  saloon,  reached  the  spring  at  eleven 
o'clock. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  announced  a 
peevish  voice  from  the  black  shadow  of  a  large  rock. 
"  Fve  been  waiting  here  since  nine  o'clock." 

1  You  talk  much  louder,  Bill,"  said  Guerilla  calmly, 
"  and  you'll  wait  here  a  while  longer  —  say  about 
twenty  years  longer  or  fifteen,  if  the  judge  feels  good- 
natured.  Man  alive,  ain't  you  got  any  sense?  " 

"  I  was  lonesome,"  Billy  excused  himself.  "  I've 
got  to  talk  to  somebody.  And  anyway,  a  feller  hardly 
ever  gets  more'n  ten  years  for  a  hold-up  where  no- 
body's killed." 

"  But  where  somebody  is  killed  the  penalty  is  worth 
considerin',"  pointed  out  Guerilla  Melody.  "  And  Tip 
O'Gorman  was  found  yesterday  morning  lying  on  the 
floor  of  his  front  room  dead  as  Julius  Caesar,  with 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    299 

your  quirt  beside  him,  and  your  snakeskin  hatband  in- 
side  the  door." 

"Tip  killed!     Tip!" 

*  Yes,  Tip,  and  on  account  of  the  quirt  and  the 
hatband  there's  a  warrant  issued  for  you  for  the  mur- 
der, and  two  posses  are  out  looking  for  you." 

"I  saw  them,"  said  Billy  placidly.  "  I  thought  it 
was  on  account  of  the  stage  hold-up.  And  they  think 
I  downed  Tip?  " 

'  Half  the  town's  sure  you  did,  and  half  is  sure  you 
didn't,  and  the  other  half  is  straddlin'  the  fence." 

"  That  makes  three  halves,"  Billy  said  dryly. 
"  Golden  Bar  must  have  considerably  increased  in  pop- 
ulation since  I  left." 

c  You  know  what  I  mean,"  snapped  Guerilla,  irri- 
tated at  what  he  chose  to  consider  callous  flippancy  on 
the  part  of  his  friend.  "  And  Tip  ain't  the  only  one 
cashed.  Rafe  Tuckleton  passed  out  last  night." 

"How?" 

"  Throat  cut,  head  cut,  and  three  knife  cuts  through 
his  heart.  Hazel  Walton  is  in  jail  charged  with  the 
job." 

Billy  Wingo  stiffened  where  he  sat.  Hazel  Walton 
in  jail!  For  an  instant  he  couldn't  realize  it.  His 
fingers  closed  on  Guerilla's  forearm. 

Guerilla  jerked  away  the  arm.  "  You  don't  need 
to  cut  my  arm  in  two,"  he  remonstrated,  tenderly  fin- 
gering the  member  in  question.  "  I  didn't  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it.  Lord  A'mighty,  Bill,  I'll  bet  you 
squeezed  a  muscle  out  of  place." 

"  My  mistake,"  apologized  Billy.  "  I  forgot  myself 
for  a  minute." 


300        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

u  Then  I  don't  want  to  be  around  when  you  remem- 
ber yourself.  I " 

"  What  evidence  is  there  against  Hazel?  "  Billy  cut 
in  sharply. 

"  In  the  first  place  there's  the  knife  that  killed 
Rafe,"  said  Guerilla,  seating  himself  beside  his  friend 
in  the  shadow  of  the  rock.  u  Butcher  knife  with  T. 
W.  on  the  handle  that  Hazel  admitted  was  hers  when 
they  showed  it  to  her.  But  she  said  Dan  Slike  had 
taken  the  knife  —  stuck  it  in  his  boot  when  he  left. 
Then  there  was  Rafe's  own  gun  which  Hazel  had  lying 
on  her  kitchen  table,  showing  he'd  been  there.  She 
admitted  that  too,  but  said  he'd  attacked  her,  and  she'd 
managed  to  get  hold  of  his  gun  after  the  clock  fell 
on  him,  and  drive  him  out." 

"  Rafe  attacked  her,  huh?  And  she  drove  him 
out?  "  Billy  leaned  back  against  the  rock  in  order  to 
steady  his  shaking  body.  When  he  spoke,  he  found 
some  difficulty  in  keeping  his  voice  down.  "  He  at- 
tacked her  and  she  drove  him  out!  Then  what  in 
hell  is  she  arrested  for  —  defending  herself?" 

"  Now,  listen,  Bill,  you  know  me.  I  believe  any- 
thing that  girl  says,  no  matter  what.  But  there  are 
some  other  people  harder  to  convince.  The  district 
attorney,  and  he's  got  a  good  many  others  stringing 
their  chips  with  his,  says  how  this  story  of  Rafe's  at- 
tacking her  ain't  true.  That  Rafe  wouldn't  hurt  her 
on  a  bet,  because  he  liked  her  too  much.  And  to  back 
that  up,  here's  Rafe's  foreman,  Jonesy,  steps  up  and 
swears  Rafe  told  him  he  was  going  to  see  Hazel  last 
night  and  ask  her  to  marry  him.  Hazel  says  Rafe 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    301 

was  drunk  when  he  came  to  see  her,  and  Jonesy  says 
he  wasn't.     So  there's  that." 

"  Weren't  there  any  tracks  round  Rafe's  body  to 

show " 

c  You  know  yourself  there  was  a  lil'l  freeze  last 
night  and  the  ground  stiffened  up  some,  and  I  guess 
the  district  attorney  and  the  three  others  who  found 
Rafe  were  so  flustered  they  walked  all  over  the  ground 
round  Rafe  and  wiped  out  every  sign  there  was." 
'  Who  was  with  the  district  attorney?  " 

Guerilla  told  him  and  resumed  the  thread  of  his 
discourse.  "  When  the  district  attorney  and  the  other 
witnesses  examined  the  Walton  premises,  they  found 
plenty  of  evidence  that  there'd  been  a  fight,  and  they 
found  a  lot  of  supplies  gone,  cartridges,  grub  and 
such,  Hazel  had  bought  in  town  the  morning  before." 

"  Is  that  all?"  asked  Billy  when  Guerilla  paused. 

"  Lemme  get  my  breath,"  Guerilla  begged  indig- 
nantly. "  The  whole  business  is  so  tangled  and  mixed 
up  it's  hard  to  tell  it  straight  No,  it  ain't  all.  The 
district  attorney  says  those  supplies  were  bought  for 
you  and  they  were  taken  by  you.  Hazel's  ridin'  horse, 
the  one  used  to  be  her  uncle's,  that's  gone  too  —  with 
you." 

"  If  Rale  thinks  I  was  at  Hazel's,  it's  reasonable  to 
assume  I  might  have  had  a  hand  in  killin'  Rafe  my 
own  self.  That  goes  double  for  Dan  Slike,  seeing  he 
had  the  knife  last." 

"  It's  reasonable  all  right  enough,  but  then  you  and 
Dan  Slike  ain't  noways  available,  and  Hazel  is  right 
handy.  Rale  admits  you  might  have  done  it,  and  he 
keeps  yawpin'  the  evidence  is  strong  against  Hazel, 


3O2        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

and  he  would  be  false  to  his  oath  of  office  if  he  didn't 
put  her  in  jail.'' 

"False  to  his  oath  of  office!     Rale!  " 

"  Yeah,  ain't  it  a  joke?"  contemptuously. 

"  But  how  did  Slike  get  hold  of  the  butcher  knife, 
that's  what  I  want  to  know?  He  didn't  have  it  on 
him  when  I  arrested  him  last  January." 

"  That's  the  damndest  part  of  the  whole  deal,  Bill. 
Hazel  says  Dan  Slike  came  to  her  place  before  Rafe 
did,  and  it  was  him  took  the  supplies  and  her  horse 
and  her  hat  and  that  very  same  butcher  knife  which 
gave  Rafe  his  come-uppance.  Slike  beat  her  almost 
senseless  too,  she  said." 

Billy  Wingo  looked  up  at  the  stars.  His  lips  moved. 
But  no  sound  issued.  After  a  moment  he  said,  in  an 
oddly  dead  tone  of  voice,  "  How  did  Slike  escape?  " 

"  Far  as  anybody  can  tell,  he  made  him  a  key  some- 
how and  unlocked  the  jail  door  and  walked  out.  Any- 
way, Riley  Tyler  found  the  door  open  yesterday  after- 
noon and  Dan's  cell  empty.  And  the  district  attorney 
lost  a  horse  and  saddle." 

4  The  district  attorney,  huh?" 

"  The  district  attorney." 

"  It  was  to  some  people's  interests  to  have  Dan 
Slike  escape,"  Billy  said  musingly. 

1  You  bet  it  was,  and  I'm  gamblin'  somebody  let 
him  out  all  right,  but  —  well,  I  dunno.  Anyway,  Rale, 
he  led  the  posse  that  trailed  Slike,  him  and  Felix  Craft. 
Nobody  could  have  been  more  energetic  than  those 
two." 

"  If  they  were  so  energetic  and  there  was  any  kind 
of  a  trail,  which  there  should  have  been,  because  it 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare   303 

was  a  warm  afternoon,  it's  queer  they  didn't  run  up 
on  Slike  at  Hazel's." 

'  That's  the  funny  part  of  it.  The  trail  led  in  the 
opposite  direction  toward  Jacksboro.  The  posse  fol- 
lowed it  clear  to  the  West  Fork  of  the  Wagonjack, 
where  they  lost  it  on  the  rocky  ground  on  the  other 
side." 

"  Slike  might  have  doubled  back." 

Guerilla  Melody  shook  his  head.  "  Not  without 
gettin'  caught  —  if  he  rode  to  the  West  Fork  first. 
Besides,  Hazel  says  he  came  to  her  house  a  li'l  after 
sunset,  and  he  escaped,  near  as  we  can  figure  out, 
between  three  and  four.  So  you  see  he'd  never  have 
had  time  to  make  it  to  Walton's  from  the  West 
Fork  by  sunset." 

"  Did  Hazel  say  how  long  he  stayed?  " 

"  About  an  hour." 

"  An  hour !  Then  Slike  knew  he  wasn't  being  fol- 
lowed. He  never  went  to  the  West  Fork  a-tall." 

Guerilla  nodded  a  grave  head.  "  I  never  was  sure 
he  did,  especially  after  Shotgun  Shillman  told  me  when 
he  got  back  that  the  tracks  they  followed  to  the  West 
Fork  looked  a  damsight  older  than  they  had  a  right  to, 
always  supposin'  they  were  made  that  afternoon.  Oh, 
you  can't  blame  Shotgun,  Bill,  or  Riley  either.  The 
district  attorney  was  in  charge  of  the  posse,  and  him 
and  Felix  and  the  rest  of  his  friends  said  it  was  the 
wind  a-blowing  so  hard  made  the  tracks  look  old. 
And  there  was  a  tearin'  breeze,  worse  luck." 

"  Do  you  know  somethin',  Guerilla?  It  wouldn't 
surprise  me  a  whole  lot  to  find  out  the  district  attorney 
his  own  self  made  that  trail  to  the  Wagonjack." 


304        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  It  would  surprise  me  if  you  found  it  out.  You 
ain't  catchin'  him  so  easy.  Not  that  feller." 

"  Leave  it  to  me.  And  he  provided  Slike  with  the 
horse  too.  You'll  see." 

"  I'm  sure  hoping  I  do.  I'd  like  nothing  better  than 
to  see  Art  Rale  stretching  the  kinks  out  of  a  new 
rope." 

"Stranger  things  have  happened.  I  guess  I'd  better 
go  see  the  district  attorney." 

Guerilla  Melody  chuckled  as  one  does  at  a  pleas- 
antry. 

"I  mean  it,"  pronounced  Billy.  "  He  needs  a  li'l 
straight  talk,  and  he's  going  to  get  it  prompt  and 
soon.  Luckily  he  likes  fresh  air." 

"Fresh  air?"  puzzled  Guerilla. 

"  Leaves  his  window  partly  open  at  night,"  ex- 
plained Billy.  "  Which  being  so,  I'll  be  out  of  luck 
if  I  can't  creep  in  and  give  him  the  surprise  of  his 
life." 

"  He  may  not  have  gone  to  sleep  yet.  I'll  find 
out." 

Before  Billy  could  stay  him,  Guerilla  was  gone. 
Fifteen  minutes  later  he  returned. 

"  He's  abed,  snoring  like  a  circular  saw  working  on 
a  knotty  log,"  Guerilla  informed  him.  "  But  there's 
a  light  in  the  kitchen." 

4  That  means  his  housekeeper's  up  —  probably  set- 
in'  bread  for  to-morrow.  Ain't  she  quite  a  friend  of 
yours,  Guerilla?  " 

The  darkness  veiled  Guerilla's  blush.  "  I  see  her 
now  and  then." 

"  Then  go  see  her  now,"  urged  Billy.    "  It's  kind  of 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    305 

late  for  an  evening  call,  but  you  can  tell  her  some 
kind  of  a  lie.  If  she  likes  you,  she'll  believe  it.  You 
go  see  her  and  keep  her  in  the  kitchen  for  the  next 
thirty  minutes.  Then  meet  me  here." 

The  district  attorney,  lying  on  the  broad  of  his 
back  in  bed,  suddenly  snored  his  way  into  a  night- 
mare. He  dreamed  that  he  was  in  the  woods,  that 
he  had  lain  down  upon  an  inviting  bank  and  that  a 
ninety-foot  pine  had  fallen  upon  his  chest,  to  the 
prejudice  of  his  breathing.  He  squirmed  and  wrig- 
gled but  the  tree  was  immovable.  It  was  slowly 
crushing  the  walls  of  his  chest.  The  district  attorney 
gasped  —  awoke,  and  discovered  to  his  horror  that 
his  bad  dream  was  partly  true.  There  was  some- 
thing roosting  on  his  chest.  If  not  a  tree,  it  was  at 
least  confoundedly  heavy.  Furthermore,  adding  as  it 
were  to  the  interest  of  the  occasion,  a  something  chilly 
and  hard  was  rooting  into  the  angle  of  his  chin  and 
neck. 

The  something  on  his  chest  spoke  in  a  carefully 
restrained  whisper.  "  Keep  very  quiet." 

The  district  attorney  would  have  shivered  had  he 
been  able  to  move  that  much.  He  knew  that  voice. 
It  belonged  to  Billy  Wingo. 

"  You  shouldn't  have  left  your  window  open," 
pointed  out  Billy.  "  Your  insane  love  for  fresh  air 
will  be  the  death  of  you  yet." 

The  district  attorney  did  nothing  but  gasp  faintly. 

"  Would  it  be  more  comfortable  if  I  sat  on  your 
stomach  instead?"  asked  the  oppressor  prodding  the 
other  man  in  the  throat  with  his  gun  muzzle. 


306        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"I I  —  cuc-can't  breathe  !  "  the  district  attorney 

choked  out. 

11  Just  a  minute,"  said  Billy,  feeling  beneath  the 
pillows,  but  finding  no  weapon,  he  slid  from  the  dis- 
trict attorney's  chest  to  the  side  of  the  bed.  '  You 
didn't  expect  to  see  me  so  soon,  did  you,  Arthur?" 

"  No,"  was  the  truthful  reply,  "  I  didn't." 

"  I  was  counting  on  that.  I  hear  you  arrested  Miss 
Walton." 

"I  —  er  —  I  had  to,"  explained  the  district  attor- 
ney, beginning  to  feel  that,  in  the  matter  of  Miss  Wal- 
ton, he  had  perhaps  been  a  trifle  hasty. 

"  Fool  mistake.  You  didn't  have  any  evidence 
against  her  a-tall." 

"  But  —  "  began  the  district  attorney. 

Billy  cut  him  short.  "  No  evidence  a-tall.  Not  a 
smidgin.  No.  You  were  too  previous,  Arthur,  with 
your  duty  and  your  oath  of  office.  Damn  your  duty, 
damn  your  oath  of  office.  I've  got  a  sneaking  idea, 
old  settler,  that  you  are  cluttering  up  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Be  reasonable  now,  don't  you  think  so  your- 
self?" 

But  this  was  more  than  the  district  attorney  was 
willing  to  admit.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think,"  he 
grunted.  "  I  think  if  Hazel  Walton  didn't  kill  Rafe 
Tuckleton  then  you  did." 

"  About  Miss  Walton  there  ain't  any  ifs,  nary  an 
if.  She  didn't  do  it.  There  is  a  reasonable  doubt 
that  I  did,  several  reasonable  doubts,  in  fact.  Any- 
way, Arthur,  try  keeping  your  suspicions  to  yourself 
to  oblige  me,  will  you?  Lord  knows  one  murder  and 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    307 

a  stage  hold-up  are  enough  crimes  to  be  charged  with 
at  one  time." 

u  You  thought  you  were  very  clever,"  sneered  the 
district  attorney,  "  getting  that  girl  to  pack  your  sup- 
plies out  from  town  for  you.  Didn't  have  nerve 
enough  to  do  it  yourself.  Had  to  hide  behind  a  wom- 
an's skirts  and  get  her  in  trouble,  didn't  you?  " 

"  You  mean  about  the  horse  and  cartridges  and 
grub  that  Slike  took  from  Walton's?  " 

"  I  mean  about  the  horse  and  cartridges  and  grub 
that  you  took  from  Walton's.  Slike  had  nothing  to 
do  with  that.  Slike  didn't  go  to  Walton's.  He  went 
north  to  the  West  Fork,  where  we  lost  his  trail." 

"  You're  sure  of  this?" 

"Sure?  Of  course  I'm  sure.  Didn't  I  trail  him 
to  the  river  myself.  Didn't  —  Say,  where'd  you  get 
your  information?" 

"  A  li'l  bird  told  me.  But  he  asked  me  not  to  men- 
tion his  name.  Sorry." 

The  district  stared  helplessly  into  the  shadowy  fea- 
tures of  the  man  at  his  bedside.  The  moonlight  shone 
in  at  the  open  window  through  which  Billy  had  en- 
tered. The  rays  touched  a  corner  of  the  bed,  turning 
the  bedpost  to  shiny  ebony  and  the  counterpane  to  dull 
silver.  The  district  attorney  could  hear  the  murmur 
of  his  housekeeper's  voice  in  the  kitchen.  Some  man 
then,  was  in  the  kitchen  with  her.  Lord !  if  he  dared 
yell  for  help ! 

As  though  sensing  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of 
the  district  attorney,  Billy  jabbed  the  gunsight  up  un- 
der the  man's  chin.  "Don't  gamble  with  me,  Arthur. 
Think  how  your  friends  would  miss  you." 


308        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

But  Arthur  had  already  decided  against  doing  any 
gambling.  "  What  do  you  want?  "  he  whispered. 

"  I've  been  hoping  you'd  ask  me  that.  It  gives  me 
an  opening  and  shows  you're  willing  to  be  reasonable. 
Yeah.  Arthur,  I  want  you  to  set  Miss  Walton  free." 

"  You  go  to  hell,"  was  the  sharp  return. 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Billy,  in  his  light- 
some whisper.  "  You're  thinking  because  I'm  talking 
to  you  so  bright  and  merry  that  I  don't  mean  what  I 
say.  Listen  —  "  the  whisper  lost  its  airness  and  be- 
came a  ruthless,  snarling  growl  —  "  listen  to  me.  Be- 
cause of  what  you've  done  to  her,  it's  all  I  can  do  to 
keep  from  strangling  the  breath  out  of  you  here  and 
now.  If  I  talked  to  you  the  way  I  feel  like  talking  to 
you,  I'd  lose  my  temper  and  you'd  lose  your  life. 
I'm  trying  to  hang  on  to  both  —  for  now.  Don't 
make  it  any  harder  for  me  than  you  have  to."  He 
paused.  "  About  Miss  Walton,"  he  continued  in  his 
former  tone.  "  I'll  give  you  your  choice.  Let  her 
go,  and  I  won't  down  you  by  Sunday  night." 

"Huh?" 

"  Sunday  night.  If  she  isn't  out  of  jail  and  the 
warrant  against  her  withdrawn  by  noon  to-morrow,  I 
give  you  my  word  that  I'll  down  you  on  or  before 
midnight  Sunday.  And  I  have  a  habit  of  keeping  my 
promises." 

The  district  attorney  knew  this  to  be  true.  But  he 
was  a  wriggler  by  nature.  "I  —  "  he  began. 

4  You  can  do  it,"  interrupted  Billy.  "  You  have 
the  power." 

>(  I  can't,"  denied  the  wretched  man  in  the  bed, 
now  more  than  ever  aware  that  he  had  made  a  mis- 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    309 

take  in  arresting  Hazel,  yet  not  at  all  clear  in  his  mind 
how  to  set  matters  right  without  being  ridiculed  into 
political  extinction.  Yet  if  he  didn't  set  matters  right, 
he  would  lose  his  life.  Metaphorically  speaking,  he 
eased  himself  down  between  the  horns  of  the  dilemma 
and  considered.  "  I  can't,"  he  repeated  after  a  mo- 
ment of  silence.  "  I  can't  let  her  go  after  arresting 
her.  Judge  Donelson  wouldn't  understand  it.  The 
Governor  would  remove  me  from  office." 

"  You're  a  liar.  Judge  Donelson  would  understand 
it  all  right  if  you  explained  it  carefully.  So  would  the 
Governor.  They  are  human  beings,  even  if  you 
aren't." 

"  Well,"  bumbled  the  district  attorney,  "  maybe  I 
could  manage  it.  But  look  here,  what's  the  use  of  me 
letting  her  go?  You  couldn't  run  away  with  her. 
You'd  be  caught,  sure  as  fate,  and  then  where  would 
you  be?" 

"  I  don't  intend  to  run  away  with  her  or  without 
her.  Only  a  fool  runs  away.  A  man  of  sense  stays 
comfortably  in  the  background  waiting  for  the  cat  to 
jump." 

"  You  ran  away,"  pointed  out  the  district  attorney. 

"  Not  at  all.  I'm  staying  comfortably  in  the  back- 
ground, waiting  for  the  cat  to  jump." 

"  But  —  "  The  district  attorney  stopped  abruptly 
at  the  word. 

Billy  Wingo  smiled.  The  district  attorney  saw  his 
white  teeth  gleam  in  the  darkness.  "  But  you  can't 
understand  if  I  stayed  in  the  vicinity  why  I  haven't 
been  caught,"  he  completed  the  sentence  for  the  other 
man.  "  I  realize  your  posses  have  been  very  active." 


310        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Shotgun  Shillman  and  Riley  Tyler  are  in  league 
with  you!  They  led  the  posses  astray  on  purpose. 
I'll  get  their  hides  for  this !  " 

Billy  quieted  the  district  attorney  with  a  gesture 
that  drove  the  man's  head  almost  through  the  pillow. 

44  There  goes  your  snap  judgment  again,"  com- 
plained Billy.  "  Shotgun  and  Riley  are  doing  their 
duty.  They've  done  their  damndest  to  catch  me. 
You  hurt  my  feelings  when  you  hint  that  I  may  be 
tampering  with  them.  You  don't  really  think  I  have, 
do  you,  Arthur?  Both  Shotgun  and  Riley  are  straight 
as  strings,  aren't  they,  Arthur?  " 

The  gun  muzzle  pressed  ever  so  gently  upon  Ar- 
thur's Adam's  apple.  "  They  are,"  he  apologized. 
u  Both  of  'em." 

"  And  you'll  free  the  girl  to-night?  " 

"  To-night?     Why  not  to-morrow?" 

11  To-night.  I  don't  like  her  having  to  sleep  in  that 
calaboose.  You  let  her  out  and  tell  Shotgun  Shillman 
to  take  her  to  Sam  Prescott's  right  away  —  right  away, 
to-night,  y' understand?  " 

"  All  right,"  capitulated  the  district  attorney.  "I'll 
do  it  if  I  lose  my  job.  But  you  needn't  go  swarmin' 
off  with  any  idea  that  you'll  cheat  the  gallows.  You'll 
swing,  my  bold  boy,  for  that  O'Gorman  murder. 
There's  nothing  you  can  do  to  me  that  will  fix  up  that 
business  for  you  —  not  if  you  were  to  kill  me  here 
and  now.  Judge  Donelson  wouldn't  allow  me  to  with- 
draw that  warrant,  even  I  wanted  to.  The  evidence 
is  too  strong." 

"  So  you  really  think  I  downed  Tip?  "  Billy  asked 
curiously. 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    311 

"  I  know  it." 

"  And  held  up  the  stage?  Unofficially,  Arthur,  are 
you  holding  that  against  me,  too?  " 

"You  held  up  the  stage.  Jerry  Fern  saw  your 
horse.  So  did  all  the  passengers.  Your  clothes  were 
identified,  too.  Jerry  told  the  passengers  to  pay  par- 
ticular attention  to  your  clothes  and  the  brass  guard 
on  your  gun  and  be  able  to  describe  'em  later.  They 
did,  and  everbody  in  town  recognized  'em.  Oh,  we've 
got  you." 

"  So  clever  of  you  —  and  cleverer  of  Jerry  Fern. 
He  told  the  passengers  to  remember  what  I  wore,  did 
he?" 

"  Naturally,"  said  the  district  attorney  hastily.  "  It 
was  the  obvious  thing  to  do." 

Billy  nodded.  "  Of  course  it  was.  Bright  man, 
Jerry.  Tell  you,  Arthur,  suppose  I  bring  back  Dan 
Slike,  would  that  help  me  in  —  my  trouble?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean?  " 

"  You  want  Dan  Slike  caught,  don't  you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  Liar,"  Billy  said  to  himself.  Aloud  he  remarked. 
"  You've  come  around,  I  see.  You  really  believe  now 
that  Dan  Slike  killed  Tom  Walton  and  Judge 
Driver?" 

"Certainly,  he  killed  them,"  avowed  the  district 
attorney.  "  And  when  he's  caught  we'll  hang  him." 

"  That's  the  proper  spirit,  Arthur.  I  have  a  theory 
that,  since  it  seems  certain  that  Dan  Slike  didn't  go 
to  Walton's  after  he  escaped,  he  went  north  to  the 
Medicine  Mountains." 

"Why?" 


3I2        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

44  You  followed  his  trail  north  to  where  the  West 
Fork  swings  due  west  and  there  you  lost  it,  didn't 
you?" 

"  Yes." 

<(  Well,  then,  it's  certain  Slike  didn't  follow  the 
Fork  down.  That  would  bring  him  to  the  country 
east  of  here,  and  Tom  Read  County  is  no  place  for 
a  murderer.  Now,  what  he  did  was  ride  the  rocky 
ground  along  the  Fork  till  it  swung  north  again,  when 
he'd  either  swing  north  with  it  straight  for  the  Medi- 
cine Mountains,  or  else  ride  a  li'l  west  of  north  and  hit 
the  Medicines  away  to  the  westward  of  Jacksboro. 
And  in  the  Medicines  you  might  as  well  look  for  a 
needle  in  a  bale  of  hay.  He'll  lie  low  there  for  a 
spell,  probably  during  spring  and  summer.  You  may 
depend  on  it,  that's  what  he's  done." 

"  I  believe  you're  right,"  agreed  the  district  attor- 
ney, striving  to  inject  a  note  of  excitement  in  his 
whisper.  "I'll  have  a  posse  riding  that  way  to- 


morrow." 


u  Not  a  posse.  Too  many  men  in  a  posse.  He'd 
be  able  to  keep  out  of  their  way,  Slike's  no  ordinary 
murderer,  Rale.  Remember  that.  He's  a  killer  from 
Killersville,  and  he  probable  knows  more  about  keep- 
ing out  of  sight  than  a  grizzly  bear.  But  one  man 
would  have  a  chance  to  get  him.  He  wouldn't  be  ex- 
pecting one  man,  do  you  see?" 

'*  I  don't  see  what  you're  driving  at." 

"  I  mean  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you,  Rale.  I'll 
trade  you  Slike  for  myself.  You  will  prosecute  these 
cases  against  me,  if  I'm  caught.  It  lies  with  you 
whether  I  get  a  chance  for  my  alley  or  not." 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    313 
"How?" 

"  You  could  fail  to  take  advantage  of  points  as  they 
come  up.  You  could.  You're  clever  enough,  Gawd 
knows.  Now,  in  the  O'Gorman  deal  I'd  plead  not 
guilty.  I  killed  Tip  in  self-defense,  see?  Well,  you 
could  let  me  prove  I  did  mighty  easy.  Same  with  the 
hold-up.  I'll  get  me  a  clever  lawyer  who'd  take  ad- 
vantage of  some  flaw  in  the  indictment.  You  would 
draw  up  that  indictment.  I  don't  believe  we  could 
risk  flaws  in  both  indictments,  could  we?  " 

The  district  attorney  could  hardly  believe  his  wicked 
ears.  It  simply  was  not  possible  that  Bill  Wingo 
could  be  such  a  simpleton  as  to  believe  that.  "  Flaws 
in  both  indictments  would  be  a  li'l  too  raw,"  said  the 
district  attorney,  almost  suffocating  in  the  effort  to 
dissemble  his  glee. 

"  Yes,  well,  all  right.  In  the  O'Gorman  murder 
trial,  you'll  let  me  prove  my  case,  and  in  the  other 
you'll  stick  in  a  flaw.  The  Tuckleton  case  you  can't 
do  a  thing  with.  There's  not  enough  evidence,  so 
you'll  have  to  let  it  drop.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
proposition,  Dan  Slike  for  Bill  Wingo?  You  can 
make  a  record  with  Dan  Slike  too.  He  hasn't 
a  friend  in  the  county.  Another  thing.  That  last 
bribe  of  yours  I  mentioned  a  while  ago.  I'll  throw  in 
what  I  know  about  that  for  good  measure  with  Slike." 

"  But  why  stand  your  trial  at  all?  "  fenced  the  dis- 
trict attorney.  "  Why  not  try  to  escape?" 

"  You  forget  that  not  ten  minutes  ago  you  told  me 
I  couldn't  possibly  escape.  You  were  wrong,  naturally. 
But  I  don't  want  to  escape.  If  I  did,  I'd  have  these 
things  hanging  over  me  the  rest  of  my  life.  No  mat- 


314        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

ter  where  I  went,  I'd  always  be  looking  for  a  warrant 
waiting  for  me  at  every  bend  in  the  trail.  No,  the 
only  sensible  way  out  is  to  get  this  thing  over  with 
and  settled  as  soon  as  possible.  I  don't  want  to  leave 
Crocker  County.  I  like  it  here." 

"  Oh,"  murmured  the  district  attorney,  believing  that 
he  knew  the  reason  why  Billy  Wingo  did  not  care  to 
leave  the  county.  It  was  a  good  and  sufficient  reason, 
and  he  expected  to  release  it  from  jail  that  very  night. 

"  But  you'd  have  to  get  supplies  from  time  to  time," 
he  said  leadingly.  "  Your  description  is  in  every  town 
by  now." 

"  I'll  only  go  to  Jacksboro  when  I  have  to  buy  any- 
thing," explained  Billy,  "  and  as  it  happens,  I  never 
was  there  but  once  and  that  was  five  years  ago.  If  I 
let  my  beard  and  hair  grow,  who'd  know  me  ?  It  would 
take  somebody  from  Golden  Bar  to  recognize  my  voice, 
and  I'll  take  care  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  anybody 
from  Golden  Bar.  Oh,  it'll  be  safe  enough.  I'll  make 
my  camp  somewhere  on  Coldstream  Creek  and  work 
all  through  the  Medicines  from  there.  I'll  get  Dan  and 
bring  him  back.  How  about  it  now  —  willing  to  make 
it  easy  for  me  at  the  trial?  " 

The  district  attorney  could  hardly  control  his  voice. 
At  last  the  devil  had  delivered  his  enemy  into  his  hands. 
Now  he  could  pay  him  back  for  kicking  him  out  into 
the  snow.  You  bet  he  could.  "  I'll  do  as  you  suggest," 
he  said,  u  and  drop  the  Tuckleton  case  in  so  far  as  you 
and  Miss  Walton  are  concerned,  and  I'll  let  you  win 
on  the  other  two  counts  —  provided  you  bring  back 
Dan  Slike." 

"  Fair  enough.    In  the  meantime  I  want  a  free  hand. 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare   315 

You'll  have  to  call  off  the  posses  that  are  out  after  me. 
You  can  do  that  without  exciting  suspicion.  Look 
how  long  they've  been  out." 

"  I'll  manage  it,"  declared  the  district  attorney. 
"  You  think  the  Coldstream  is  a  good  place  to  camp?  " 

"  Sure  it  is.     I've  been  there  before." 

"  Don't  risk  going  to  any  other  town  than  Jacks- 
boro." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Billy.  "Be  sure  of  that.  Well,  I 
guess  I'd  better  be  draggin'  it.  You'll  be  wanting  to 
let  Miss  Walton  out.  By  the  way,  don't  forget  that 
I'm  not  leaving  the  neighborhood  till  I  hear  that  Miss 
Walton  is  safe  at  Prescott's  and  the  warrant  against 
her  withdrawn.  Just  bear  that  in  mind,  Arthur." 

"  I  will,"  Arthur  said  warmly.  "  Shall  I  suggest 
to  Miss  Walton  that  a  letter  would  be  sure  to  reach  you 
at  Jacksboro — under  an  assumed  name,  of  course?" 

"  It  would  be  hardly  worth  while,"  replied  Billy. 
"  Unless  I  catch  Dan  Slike  sooner,  I  don't  expect  to  be 
in  Jacksboro  under  a  month.  Yeah,  a  month,  anyway." 

"A  month,  huh?     Here's  wishing  you  luck." 

Billy  failed  to  observe  the  brazenly  outstretched 
hand.  "  Thanks,"  he  drawled.  "  So  long." 

But  in  spite  of  the  agreement  it  was  noticeable  that 
he  kept  the  district  attorney  covered  till  his  bootsoles 
touched  the  ground  beneath  the  window. 

"  Are  you  crazy?  "  demanded  Guerilla  Melody  when 
he  had  heard  all,  or  thought  he  had,  rather.  *  You 
don't  actually  sure-enough  trust  him,  do  you?  " 

"^Certainly  not,"  Billy  replied  calmly,  flicking  the 
ash  from  his  cigarette.  "  Certainly  I  don't  trust  him. 
That's  why  I  told  him  what  I  did." 


3i6        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

Guerilla  Melody  screwed  a  forefinger  into  the  side 
of  his  head.  "  Wheels,  wheels,  wheels,  hear  'em 
buzz." 

"  You  don't  understand,  Guerilla.  You're  all  right 
lots  of  ways,  and  I'm  your  friend,  and  don't  let  any- 
body tell  you  different,  but  you  haven't  any  brains, 
not  a  brain." 

"  Now,  look  here,"  began  indignant  Guerilla,  "  if 
you " 

"  Shut  up  and  listen,"  Billy  cut  him  short.  "  I  ain't 
going  to  the  Medicine  Mountains  a-tall." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"  South  —  after  Dan  Slike.  Don't  you  see,  this  fool 
district  attorney  won't  think  of  skirmishing  after  me 
south  of  Golden  Bar.  But  I'll  bet  he'll  have  posses 
combin'  the  Medicines  within  seven  days.  And  if  I 
haven't  read  him  wrong,  he'll  have  a  warrant  for  the 
Tuckleton  murder  issued  for  me,  too." 

Guerilla  nodded  a  grave  head.  "  With  Miss  Walton 
out  of  it,  he'll  have  to  cinch  it  on  to  somebody  else. 
But  I  don't  see  yet  how  finding  Dan  Slike,  always  sup- 
posin'  you  do  find  him,  is  going  to  help  you  any.  You'll 
still  have  to  stand  your  own  trial.  And  you  ain't  think- 
in'  that  Arthur  Rale " 

"  Oh,  angels  ever  bright  and  fair !  The  man  doesn't 
see  it  yet !  I  intend  to  bring  in  the  murderer  of  Tip 
O'Gorman  and  the  man  who  held  up  the  stage,  too, 
while  I'm  at  it.  In  words  of  one  syllable  that  is  my 
plan." 

The  expression  on  the  face  of  Guerilla  Melody  was 
one  of  awe  diluted  with  doubt.  "  All  by  your  lone- 
some?" 


The  District  Attorney's  Nightmare    317 

"  Why  not?" 

"  Maybe  I'd  better  go  with  you?  "  offered  Guerilla. 

"  No,"  said  Bill  decidedly,  "  I'd  rather  you  were 
here  in  Golden  Bar.  Then  you  can  tell  me  the  news 
now  and  then.  Outside  of  you  and  Shotgun  and  Riley, 
there  ain't  a  soul  in  town  I  can  trust,  and  for  official 
reasons  I  can't  go  near  the  deputies.  So  I  guess  you're 
elected,  Guerilla." 

"  Aw  right,"  said  his  friend.  "  You're  the  doctor. 
Have  another  drink?" 

"  Not  to-night.  Look  at  the  time.  Here  we've  been 
gassin'  a  solid  hour.  I  didn't  have  any  business  com- 
ing into  your  house  anyway.  Never  can  tell  who  might 
walk  in  on  us." 

"  You  better  wait  till  I  find  out  from  Riley  if  Rale 
kept  his  word  about  Hazel  Walton." 

"  I  won't  have  to  wait  here  for  that.  When  you 
come  back  from  talking  to  Riley,  if  everything  is  O. 
K.  and  Hazel  has  started  with  Shotgun  for  Prescott's, 
you  set  a  lamp  on  your  kitchen  table  and  open  and 
close  your  kitchen  door  four  times.  If  Rale  hasn't 
moved,  open  your  kitchen  door  and  stand  in  the  door- 
way for  half  a  minute.  I'll  be  watchin'  from  the 
ridge  —  Huh  ?  Sure,  I've  got  field  glasses.  Borrowed 
a  pair  from  Sam  Prescott  same  time  I  borrowed  a 
horse.  So  long,  Guerilla!  " 

Guerilla  Melody  blocked  off  the  light  of  the  lamp 
with  his  hat  while  Billy  opened  the  door  and  vanished 
into  outer  darkness. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Billy,  sitting  his  horse  on  the 
crest  of  the  aforementioned  ridge,  saw  a  rectangle  of 
light  at  the  tip  end  of  town,  show  and  go  out  four 


3i8         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

distinct  times.  He  clucked  to  his  horse  and  moved 
quartering  down  the  slope  in  the  direction  of  the  Hills- 
ville  trail.  His  goal  was  Prescott's,  his  intention  to 
obtain  from  Hazel  a  detailed  account  of  what  had  hap- 
pened at  the  ranch  the  night  of  the  Tuckleton  murder. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

THE    HUNCH 

THE  time  was  an  evening  in  the  first  week  in  May; 
the  place  was  the  Arkansas  Saloon  in  Willow  Bend, 
Redstone  County,  the  man  was  Billy  Wingo,  wearing 
a  sevenweeks'  beard  and  an  air  of  preoccupation.  He 
was  draped  against  the  bar,  making  rings  on  the  bar 
top  with  the  wet  bottom  of  his  whisky  glass. 

The  weather  was  unseasonably  warm,  and  the  big 
double-burner  reflector  lamps  in  the  saloon  raised  the 
bar-room  temperature  at  least  fifteen  degrees.  Billy 
felt  the  salty  moisture  running  down  into  his  eyes.  He 
pushed  back  his  hat  and  with  a  fillip  of  his  fingers  slat- 
ted off  the  perspiration. 

He  did  not  see  a  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  bar 
look  up  at  his  sudden  movement.  Nor,  when  he  de- 
parted after  his  second  glass,  did  he  know  that  the 
other  man  was  following  until  he  had  passed  out  into 
the  street.  Then,  with  that  sixth  sense  men  who  carry 
their  lives  in  their  holsters  so  frequently  develop,  he 
knew  it.  Hence,  quite  naturally,  instead  of  going  di- 
rectly to  the  hotel  hitching-rail  where  his  horse  was 
tied,  he  sauntered  with  apparent  aimlessness  round  the 
corner  of  the  saloon,  along  the  blank  side  wall  and 
round  the  next"  corner. 


320        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

In  the  darkness  behind  this  corner,  gun  in  hand,  he 
waited.  The  other  man  slid  round  the  corner  in  his 
wake  and  ran  plump  into  the  muzzle  of  the  Wingo 
six-shooter. 

"  Were  you  looking  for  me?  "  Bill  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

The  man,  having  shown  that  he  was  no  shorthorn 
by  promptly  throwing  up  his  hands,  laughed  low.  "  I 
was  looking  for  you,"  he  said,  still  chuckling,  "  but  not 
the  way  you  mean." 

"  Your  voice  sounds  familiar,"  said  the  sceptical 
Billy.  "  Suppose  you  step  over  here  into  the  light  from 
this  window.  Keep  your  hands  up." 

"  Glad  to  —  both  ways,"  agreed  the  man,  obeying 
instantly.  "  Satisfied  now?  " 

4  You  can  put  'em  down,"  said  Billy  sliding  his  gun 
back  into  the  holster  as  soon  as  the  light  fell  on  the 
man's  face.  "  I  thought  you  went  up  to  Jacksboro  to 
visit  your  uncle." 

"  I  did,"  said  John  Dawson.  "  But  I  thought  I'd 
drift  back  for  the  Cross  T  round-up.  On  my  way 
south  I  stopped  at  Golden  Bar." 

uYeah?" 

*  Yeah.  I  was  looking  for  a  gent  name  of  Tuckle- 
ton.  I  saw  where  he  was  buried." 

>4  I  guess  you  heard  something  while  you  were  there, 
huh?" 

4  I  heard  something  in  Jacksboro,  too.  That's  why 
I  followed  you.  Let's  go  where  we  can  talk  private." 

On  a  log,  in  the  darkness,  behind  the  dance  hall, 
they  sat  down  to  talk  "  private." 

4  What  did  you  hear  in  Jacksboro?"  Billy  asked. 


The  Hunch  321 

!<  I  heard  a  posse  talk  —  six  men.     I  met  'em  over 
on  Coldstream  Creek  three-four  times." 

Billy  uttered  a  light  laugh.     "  I  figured  it  would  be 
that  way." 

"  They  seemed  to  think  you'd  oughta  been  camping 
on  Coldstream." 

4  What  kind  of  a  warrant  did  they  have?  " 
"  All  kinds.     Two  murders  and  a  stage  hold  up." 
4  Was  one  of  'em  on  account  of  Tuckleton?  " 
'  Yep.    I  didn't  know  whether  to  hold  it  against  you 


or  not." 


'  You  needn't.     It  wasn't  me." 

Dawsori  grinned  his  appreciation.  "  I'm  glad.  If 
you  had  it  would  have  always  been  between  us.  I  had 
figured  on  playing  even-Steven  with  Tuckleton  my- 
self." 

"  I'm  looking  for  the  man  who  killed  him.  If  I  don't 
find  him  I  needn't  go  back  to  Golden  Bar." 

"  I  heard  you'd  been  suspended  from  office,"  said 
Dawson  bluntly. 

"  I  hadn't  heard  it  yet,  but  I  expected  it.  Anybody 
else  appointed?  " 

"  Shotgun  Shillman,  pro  tern." 

"  I  almost  wish  it  was  somebody  else,"  he  said  whim- 
sically. "  Shotgun  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  energetic 
as  a  bear  with  a  bee  tree.  He'll  maybe  dump  me  be- 
fore I  do  what  I  want." 

"  If  he's  a  friend  of  yours "  hinted  Dawson. 

"  He'd  arrest  his  own  brother,  if  there  was  a  warrant 
issued  against  him.  He's  that  kind." 

"  A  conscience  is  a  heavy  load  to  pack,"  said  the 
cynical  Dawson.  "  Me,  I  believe  the  end  justifies  the 


322        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

means.  It  don't  matter  much  what  trail  you  follow, 
so  you  get  there.  Can  I  help  you  any?  " 

"How?* 

"  I  dunno  —  any  old  way.  You  did  me  one  good 
turn,  and  I'm  not  forgetting  it.  Anything  I  got  you 
can  have  any  time  anywhere." 

"  Now,  that's  right  clever  of  you,"  said  Billy,  some- 
what embarrassed  at  the  other's  gratitude.  "  But  I 
don't  guess  you  can  help  me  any." 

"  Try  me,"  urged  Dawson. 

"  The  man  who  killed  Tuckleton  is  a  man  named 
Dan  Slike,  who  broke  out  of  jail  just  before  he  was 
going  to  be  tried  for  another  murder.  The  only  way 
you  can  help  me  is  by  telling  me  where  he  is,  and  I 
expect  you  can't  do  that." 

"  Not  right  off  the  reel,"  admitted  Dawson.  "  Ain't 
you  picked  up  any  trail  of  this  sport?" 

"  I've  cut  his  trail  five  different  places,  Bow  Bells, 
Gunsight,  Dragoon,  Shadyside,  and  the  Rafter  L.  I 
figured  he'd  come  here  after  leavin'  the  Rafter  L — 
it's  only  thirty  miles.  But  I  guess  he  didn't.  Least- 
wise nobody  seems  to  have  noticed  anybody  of  his  de- 
scription." 

1  You  haven't  described  him  to  me  yet,"  pointed  out 
Dawson. 

Billy  began.  "  —  and  maybe  a  black  beard  by  now," 
he  concluded. 

"  Bow  Bells,  Gunsight,  Dragoon,  Shadyside  and  the 
Rafter  L,"  repeated  Dawson,  rasping  a  hand  across 
his  stubbly  chin. 

4  South,  y'understand,  till  he  reached  Shadyside,  and 
then  he  headed  northeast  to  the  Rafter  L.  What  I'd 


The  Hunch  323 

like  to  know  is  what  made  him  change  direction  that- 
away?  " 

11  He  ain't  in  any  hurry  to  leave  the  territory,  that's 
a  cinch." 

"  Not  after  he  left  Shadyside,  anyway." 

"  Something  happened  there  to  head  him." 

"  Sure.  But  whatever  it  was  it  wasn't  visible  to  the 
naked  eye.  Rafter  L,  the  same  way.  He  stopped  there 
for  dinner  and  rode  away  without  spending  the  night." 

"  He  may  have  gone  to  Marquis." 

Billy  nodded.  "  He  may.  But  Marquis  is  more 
north  than  east.  That's  why  I  came  here  first.  Any- 
way, to-morrow  morning  I'm  riding  to  Marquis,  and 
if  he  ain't  there  I'll  sift  through  the  country  between 
Marquis  and  Dorothy.  There  are  several  ranches  in 
between  those  two  towns." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  announced  Dawson. 

Billy  surveyed  his  neighbor  in  surprise.  "  You. 
What  for?"  " 

"  For  him  —  exercise  —  any  old  thing  you  like,  that 
is,  if  it  ain't  a  private  party." 

"  You  can  sit  in  if  you  want  to,"  said  Billy  slowly, 
more  glad  to  accept  an  ally  than  he  cared  to  admit. 
"  But  you've  got  a  job." 

"  The  job  can  wait.  Round  up's  over,  so  it  won't 
hurt  the  ranch  to  lose  my  valuable  services  for  a  spell. 
To-morrow  we  go  to  Marquis,  huh?  " 

By  mid-afternoon  the  following  day  Billy  Wingo 
was  riding  into  Marquis  from  one  direction  and  Daw- 
son  was  riding  in  from  another.  As  apparent  stran- 
gers they  believed  they  could  do  better  work.  Before 
six  o'clock  Billy  had  judiciously  canvassed  every  saloon 


324        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

in  the  place  and  had  learned  absolutely  nothing.  Either 
Slike  had  not  entered  Marquis,  or  else  he  was  wearing 
a  disguise.  In  the  twilight,  in  the  brush  beyond  the 
far-flung  skirmishline  of  empty  tin  cans  and  bottles 
that  surrounds  every  cow-country  town,  he  met  his 
friend  Dawson.  The  latter  had  worked  the  stores  and 
the  dance  hall,  but  he  had  nothing  to  report.  The 
following  day  Billy  journeyed  by  the  one  road  to  Doro- 
thy, wrhile  Dawson  traveled  by  a  more  circuitous  route 
that  would  take  him  past  two  ranch  houses  where  there 
might  be  information  to  be  picked  up.  Billy  Wingo, 
without  pushing  his  horse,  reached  Dorothy  too  late 
for  the  regular  dinner  at  the  hotel.  Adjoining  the  Car- 
nation Saloon  was  a  two-by-four  restaurant.  He  en- 
tered the  place,  sat  down  at  the  oilcloth-covered  table 
and  gave  his  order  to  the  good-looking  young  woman 
who  was  evidently  cook,  hasher  and  washer  combined. 

In  one  corner  of  the  restaurant  an  eight-year-old 
girl  was  squatting  on  the  floor  and  bathing  two  wooden 
dollies  in  a  tin  wash-basin.  A  small  dog  waggled  in 
from  the  street,  sniffed  respectfully  at  Billy's  boots, 
then  hunted  along  a  crack  in  the  floor  with  his  nose 
till  he  came  within  reach  of  the  eight-year-old,  who 
promptly  seized  him  by  his  short  tail  and  dragged  him, 
ki-yiing  his  protests,  to  her  bosom. 

"  You  need  a  bath,"  said  the  eight-year-old.  "  I'll 
wash  you." 

Gripping  her  victim  firmly  by  one  ear  and  his  tail 
she  plumped  him  splash  into  the  washbasin.  To  the 
dog's  eternal  credit  he  made  no  attempt  to  bite  her, 
but  he  wriggled  and  squirmed  and  threw  his  body 
about,  and  ever  he  lamented  loudly. 


The  Hunch  325 

The  good-looking  young  woman  poked  her  head 
in  from  the  kitchen.  "  Winnie,  you  leave  Towler  be. 
You  know  he  doesn't  like  to  be  teased.  Why  don't 
you  go  on  giving  Emmaline  and  Sally  Jane  their  baths. 
There !  Now,  see  what's  happened  —  basin  upset  and 
water  all  over  the  floor.  That's  the  third  time  to-day 
I've  had  to  mop  up  after  you." 

Little  Winnie  was  a  damsel  of  parts.  "  I'm  sorry, 
auntie.  I'll  mop  up.  Towler,  you  git." 

Towler  got.  Winnie  began  to  sop  up  the  water  with 
a  floor  rag  which  she  wrung  out  in  the  washbasin. 

"  I'll  finish  giving  you  your  bath,  Sally  Jane,  soon 
as  I  get  fresh  water.  Emmaline  is  nice  and  clean,  but 
you're  a  dirty,  dirty  girl,  Sally  Jane." 

Sally  Jane !  There  it  was  again.  Merely  a  coin- 
cidence, of  course,  but  it  was  odd  to  run  across  this 
combination  of  proper  names.  Billy  began  to  take 
more  than  a  passing  interest  in  the  eight-year-old. 

The  little  girl  resumed  her  animated  monologue.  "  I 
tell  you  what,  Sally  Jane,  if  you  don't  keep  yourself 
cleaner,  I'm  gonna  go  gack  to  calling  you  Maria  again." 

Then  it  was  that  the  hunch  came  to  Billy  Wingo. 

"  Winnie,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees  and  wearing  his  most  engaging  smile, 
"  Winnie,  that  Sally  Jane  dolly  is  sure  one  fine-looking 
lady." 

Winnie  regarded  him  with  an  indulgent  eye.  "  She's 
my  favorite,  Sally  Jane  is." 

"  Sally  Jane  is  a  pretty  name  too." 

"  I  like  it." 

"  You  haven't  always  called  her  Sally  Jane,  have 
you?" 


326        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Not  always.  I  used  to  call  her  Mariar.  My  auntie 
says  Mariar  sounds  like  a  cat  talking,  but  I  liked  it  till 
I  heard  Sally  Jane,  then  I  liked  Sally  Jane  best." 

"And  when  did  you  hear  the  name  Sally  Jane?" 

"  Long,  long  ago." 

"Oh!"  Disappointment  on  the  part  of  Billy 
Wingo.  Farewell,  hunch.  Nevertheless  he  essayed  a 
forlorn  hope.  "  How  long?  " 

"  Most  a  week." 

Most  a  week!  Billy  had  forgotten  that  child-time 
runs  faster  than  grown-up  time.  The  hunch  pricked 
up  its  little  ears  and  began  to  return.  "  Where  did  you 
hear  that  name?  " 

"  Man  in  the  Carnation.  He  was  drunk,  and  he  went 
round  talking  to  God  in  the  saloon.  I  heard  him 
through  the  window.  Lots  of  men  do  that.  My 
Auntie  says  they'll  frizzle  when  they  die." 

*  They  ought  to,"  pronounced  the  righteously  indig- 
nant Bill.  "  Did  this  man  say  anything,  about  Sally 
Jane?" 

"  Lots." 

"In  the  saloon?" 

"  At  the  woodpile  out  back.  I  was  making  a  li'l  doll- 
house  behind  it,  and  he  came  and  lay  down  beside  the 
woodpile  to  sleep  it  off." 

Oh,  the  wisdom  of  the  frontier  child. 

"Weren't  you  afraid?"  probed  Billy. 

"  Nah.  Why,  you  needn't  ever  be  afraid  of  a  drunk 
man.  They  can't  hurt  you  if  you  keep  out  of  their 
way.  I've  seen  lots  of  drunk  men,  I  have,  in  my  time." 

Billy  was  somewhat  overwhelmed.     "  That's  fine," 


The  Hunch  327 

he  said  lamely.  "  Did  you  run  away  when  the  drunk 
man  came  out  to  the  woodpile  to  sleep  it  off?  " 

"  Nah.  Ain't  I  said  I  ain't  scared  of  drunks?  I 
didn't  run  away.  I  stayed  right  there  on  the  other 
side  of  the  woodpile  listening  to  the  drunk  man." 

"  I  thought  you  said  he  went  to  sleep." 

"  He  talked  in  his  sleep,"  patiently  explained  the 
amazing  Winnie. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Lots." 

"  Did  he  say  anything  about  Sally  Jane?" 

"  He  said  he  loved  her." 

"  Anything  else?" 

"  He  said  he  was  gonna  marry  Sally  Jane,  by  Gawd, 
and  nobody  else  was  gonna  do  it  but  him." 

"  Did  he  talk  about  any  men?" 

"  He  talked  about  Bill." 

"Bill  who?" 

"  Bill  Wingo." 

"  Now,  we're  gettin'  there.  Did  he  say  anything  par- 
ticular about  Bill  Wingo?  " 

"  He  said  he  was  gonna  shoot  him." 

"What  for?" 

"  For  being  sheriff,  or  something.  I  don't  remem- 
ber that  exactly." 

"  You've  remembered  enough.  What  kind  of  a  look- 
ing man  was  this  drunk?  " 

"  Oh,  he  was  an  old,  old  man." 

"Old,  huh?    How  old?" 

"  Oh,  about  your  age." 

Billy  began  to  feel  like  Methuselah.  "  What  did  he 
look  like  in  the  face?  " 


328        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

The  winsome  Winnie  looked  at  him  critically. 
"  Something  like  you  in  the  face.  Sort  of  scrubby-look- 
ing and  dirty — except  maybe  his  whiskers  wasn't  so 
long  as  yours." 

"  What  color  were  the  whiskers?" 

"  Oh,  black." 

"  Was  his  hair  black?" 

"  Yop,  his  hair  was  black." 

"  Was  he  a  li'l,  short,  runty  feller?  " 

"  Nope,  he  was  a  big,  tall  feller,  skinny  sort  of." 

"  Did  you  hear  his  name?  " 

"  His  friend  called  him  Damn-your-soul  sometimes 
and  Jack  sometimes." 

So  Jack  Murray  had  gathered  unto  himself  a  friend. 
This  was  interesting,  especially  as  Jack  was  apparently 
still  cherishing  plans  for  revenge.  If  Jack  and  the 
anonymous  friend  were  in  the  vicinity  of  Dorothy,  it 
behooved  a  man  in  Billy's  position  to  look  to  himself. 

Billy  had  no  illusions  about  Jack  Murray.  The 
man  was  perfectly  capable  of  making  another  try  at 
him  from  ambush.  He  did  not  believe  that  Jack  would 
u  snitch."  Such  procedure  would  indubitably  attract 
too  much  public  attention  to  Jack.  He  couldn't  afford 
that.  Not  with  three  thousand  dollars  on  his  head. 

l<  Is  the  drunk  with  the  black  hair  and  whiskers 
around  town?  "  he  asked. 

'  They  ate  dinner  here  yesterday." 

'  They  —  oh,  he  and  his   friend?" 

'  Yep,  him  and  his  friend." 

Billy  got  up  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  kitchen. 
"  Excuse  me,  ma'am,  do  you  remember  a  tall,  black- 


The  Hunch  329 

haired  feller  and  a  friend  with  him  who  ate  in  here 
yesterday  noon?  " 

Oh,  yes,  the  good-looking  girl  remembered  perfectly 
both  men.  Billy  thought  that  it  would  be  as  well  to 
have  a  description  of  the  friend.  Would  she  describe 
him.  She  would  and  did.  The  description  was  that 
of  Slike,  Slike  with  a  short  beard.  The  man's  eyes, 
she  said,  seemed  to  bore  right  through  her.  They 
gave  her  the  creeps. 

Billy  believed  he  had  heard  enough  for  the  time 
being. 

After  dinner  Billy  went  up  and  down  Main  Street, 
scraping  acquaintance  with  storekeepers,  saloon  keep- 
ers, the  hotel  proprietor  and  the  town  marshall.  By 
five  o'clock  he  had  established  the  fact  that  two  ranches 
of  the  neighborhood,  the  T  U  and  the  Horseshoe 
were  at  loggerheads,  and  that  the  Horseshoe  was 
hiring  gunfighters;  that  the  black-haired  man  called 
Jack  and  his  friend,  whose  name  no  one  knew,  had  been 
engaged  in  conversation  with  the  Horseshoe  foreman; 
that  the  following  day  they  had  told  a  bartender  that 
they  had  offers  of  good  jobs  at  one  hundred  a  month 
apiece ;  and  that  finally,  a  wolf er  had  met  them  on  the 
range  riding  in  the  direction  of  the  Horseshoe  ranch. 

That  night  Billy  and  Dawson  disappeared  from 
Dorothy. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

THE   GUNFIGHTERS 

CRACK!  Crack!  Crack!  the  voices  of  the  Win- 
chesters drifted  faintly  down  wind  to  the  ears  of  Billy 
and  Dawson.  Billy,  fearful  that  some  one  else  had 
seen  their  quarry  first,  swore  frankly. 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  Dawson.  :t  It  may  be  just  the 
chance  we're  lookin'  for.  They've  stopped  shootin'." 

Billy  remained  pessimistic.  He  had  been  disap- 
pointed so  often.  But  it  was  the  chance  they  were  look- 
ing for,  after  all. 

Five  minutes  later  from  the  edge  of  a  flat-topped 
hill,  they  were  looking  down  upon  a  scene  that  has 
had  many  counterparts  in  the  history  of  the  West. 

Below  the  flat-topped  hill  a  wide  stretch  of  rolling 
ground  reached  away  to  a  semi-circle  of  low  hills.  A 
quarter-mile  out  from  the  base  of  the  hills  a  tiny  fire 
smoked  fitfully.  Beyond  the  fire  lay  a  hog-tied  calf. 
Beyond  the  calf  a  man  sprawled  behind  the  body  of 
a  pony.  He  was  aiming  a  rifle  at  another  man  en- 
sconced below  a  cutbank  bordering  a  small  creek  that 
meandered  with  many  windings  across  the  rolling  coun- 
try. This  second  man  was  not  blatantly  visible.  Even 
with  the  glasses  it  was  difficult  to  make  him  out.  For 
cottonwoods  grew  above  the  cutbank  and  the  man  lay 
in  deep  shadow. 


The  Gunfighters  331 

Between  this  man  and  the  man  behind  the  pony  were 
three  hundred  yards  of  ground  as  flat  as  a  floor.  Billy 
swept  the  background  of  the  cutbank  man  with  his 
glasses.  '  There  are  two  horses  tied  behind  a  wind- 
fall alongside  those  rocks.  Where's  the  other  man?  " 

"  There's  the  other  man,"  said  Dawson,  pointing  to- 
ward a  gap  in  the  cottonwoods  alongside  the  creek 
fifty  yards  down  stream  from  the  cutbank.  "  What's 
he  doing — drinking?" 

Billy  turned  his  glasses  on  the  spot  indicated.  "  He 
ain't  drinking,"  he  said  soberly.  "  His  head's  under 


water." 


"  I'm  sure  hoping  he  ain't  Dan  Slike,"  Dawson  said 
matter-of-factly. 

"  Me  too.    What " 

For  the  man  behind  the  cutbank  was  climbing  up 
among  the  cottonwoods  —  climbing  up  and  walking  out 
into  plain  sight  of  the  man  behind  the  pony.  Not  only 
that,  but,  the  rifle  across  the  crook  of  his  elbow,  nursing 
the  butt  with  his  right  hand,  he  began  to  walk  directly 
toward  him.  Still  the  man  behind  the  pony  did  not 
fire. 

"  He's  cashed  all  right,"  Billy  remarked  suddenly. 
"  He  looked  so  natural  he  fooled  me  for  a  minute. 
Let's  go  down  across  the  creek.  We're  in  luck  to-day." 

They  ran  down  the  reverse  slope  of  the  flat-topped 
hill,  cut  across  the  creek  and  approached  the  horses 
tied  behind  the  windfall. 

"  I'm  afraid  we'll  just  naturally  have  to  kill  Dan, 
after  all,"  grieved  Billy.  "  He  won't  ever  surrender. 
I " 

"  Tell  you,"  said  Dawson,  "  loosen  the  cinches;  then 


332        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

no  matter  which  horse  he  tops  he'll  jerk  himself  down. 
Then  maybe  while  he's  all  tangled  up  with  himself  and 
the  saddle " 

"  Catchem-alivoes  ourselves,"  said  Billy,  with  a  hard 
grin,  and  tossed  up  the  near  fender  of  one  of  the  sad- 
dles. 

When  both  saddles  had  been  carefully  doctored, 
Billy  and  his  friend  retired  modestly  behind  some  red 
willows. 

Soon  they  heard  a  scramble  and  a  splash  in  the  creek. 
Dan  Slike  was  coming  back.  Through  the  screen  of 
leaves  they  watched  him  coming  toward  them.  They 
heard  his  voice.  He  was  swearing  a  great  string  of 
oaths.  Billy  crouched  a  trifle  lower.  His  six-shooter 
was  out,  but  not  cocked.  Dawson  had  followed  his 
example. 

Slike  jammed  his  Winchester  into  one  of  the  empty 
scabbards  and  untied  the  bridle  reins  of  the  horses. 
Holding  the  reins  in  one  hand,  he  gripped  a  saddle 
horn  and  simultaneously  stuck  toe  in  stirrup.  Ensued 
then  a  mighty  creak  of  saddle  leather,  a  snort,  a  plunge, 
and  Slike  found  himself  on  his  back  on  the  ground  with 
one  foot  higher  than  his  head.  A  gun  barrel  appeared 
from  nowhere  and  smote  him  smartly  over  the  ear. 
Oh,  ye  sun,  moon  and  stars!  Total  darkness. 

Billy  sprang  to  the  heads  of  the  capering  horses. 
4  Take  his  hat  off,  Johnny  I  "  he  cried.  "  See  what  you 
find  under  the  sweatband!" 

When  Slike  emerged  into  the  full  possession  of  his 
senses,  he  was  the  most  disgusted  man  in  the  territory. 
1  You  gave  us  quite  a  run,"  Billy  observed  smile- 
lessly. 


The  Gunfighters  333 

Slike  damned  everybody.  "  You  needn't  have  tied 
my  hands  too,"  he  added. 

"  We  can't  afford  to  take  chances.  Do  you  feel  like 
admitting  that  the  district  attorney  helped  you  break 
jail?" 

Slike  glared  defiantly.  "  Nothin'  to  say,"  declared 
Dan  Slike,  the  unrepentant. 

"  That's  your  privilege.  Suppose  now  we  heave 
him  up  on  his  horse  and  go  see  what  happened." 

They  freed  his  feet,  mounted  him  on  the  horse  that 
was  not  packing  the  rifle  and  proceeded.  Behind  the 
gap  in  the  cottonwoods,  fifty  yards  below  the  spot  under 
the  cutbank  where  Slike  had  lain,  they  found  the  body 
of  the  man  with  his  face  in  the  water.  Billy  dragged 
out  the  body  and  turned  it  on  its  back. 

"  What  you  cussin'  for?  "  inquired  Dawson. 

"  This  feller  ain't  Jack  Murray,"  cried  the  perplexed 
Mr.  Wingo.  "  It's  Skinny  Shindle." 

"  Looks  like  we  must  have  missed  a  bet  somewhere," 
said  Dawson.  "  Plugged  him  plumb  center,  didn't 
he?  "  he  added,  alluding  to  the  red-and-blue  bullet  hole 
squarely  between  the  staring  eyes. 

"  I  got  the  other  sport,"  snarled  Slike. 

"  Where's   Jack   Murray?"   demanded   Billy. 

"  What  difference  does  that  make?  "  flung  back  Dan 
Slike. 

It  was  evident  that  Slike  was  not  in  a  confiding  mood. 

*.     Nobody  said  anything  further.     They  left  Skinny 

Shindle  lying  beside  the  little  creek  and  went  on  to 

where  the  other  dead  man  lay  beside  the  embers  of 

the  branding  fire. 


334        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  That's  a  T  U  horse,"  said  Dawson,  glancing  at  the 
brand  on  the  pony's  hip. 

Billy  turned  the  dead  man  face  upward.  He 
whistled.  "  Here's  an  odd  number,  Johnny.  This  fel- 
ler is  Simon  Reelfoot's  foreman.  You've  heard  me 
speak  of  that  low-lived  persimmon,  Simon  Reelfoot. 
This  boy  is  named  Conley.  Been  with  Reelfoot  for 
years.  I'd  sure  like  to  know  why  he's  riding  for  the 
T.  U." 

Came  then  a  puncher  riding  on  his  occasions.  At 
sight  of  the  three  men  and  the  calf  and  the  fire,  he 
spurred  toward  them.  A  hundred  yards  away  he  sud- 
denly pulled  up  and  slipped  to  the  far  side  of  his  horse. 

"  I  know  him,"  said  Dawson.  "  Used  to  ride  for 
Tasker  once.  C'mon,  Tommy,  what  you  scared  of? 
It's  me,  Johnny  Dawson." 

Tommy  at  once  remounted  and  rode  in  to  them. 
4  'Lo,  Johnny,"  he  said,  with  a  straight  mouth.    "  Did 
that  man  with  his  arms  tied  kill  Daley?  " 

"  Is  that  his  name?  "  asked  Billy,  flicking  his  thumb 
toward  the  dead  man. 

"  Jim  Daley,"  said  Tommy.     "  Did  he?  " 

"  Sure,  I  killed  him,"  Slike  truculently  answered  the 
question.  "  What  about  it?  " 

At  that  instant  Billy  demonstrated  that  the  hand  is 
sometimes  quicker  than  the  eye. 

"  He'll  die  anyway,"  he  said  mildly.  "  You  better 
let  us  do  it." 

'  I  pass,"  surrendered  Tommy,  removing  his  hand 
from  the  butt  of  his  six-shooter. 

"  Daley  got  one  before  he  went,"  said  Billy,  return- 


The  Gimfighters  335 

ing  his  six-shooter  whence  it  came.     "  He's  back  there 
on  the  bank  of  the  creek  if  ^ou  want  to  look." 

"  This  is  sure  hard  on  Daley,"  observed  Tommy, 
dismounting  to  turn  loose  the  calf.  "  He  told  me  he 
came  north  for  his  health." 

"  North?" 

"  Yeah,  couldn't  stand  the  climate  in  Arizona,  he 
said,"  amplified  Tommy,  loosening  the  knot.  u  Git  up, 
feller,  pull  your  freight.  Life's  sure  funny.  I'll  bet 
that  calf's  the  first  Daley  ran  our  iron  on.  He  only 
joined  the  outfit  last  week.  Let's  go  see  if  I  know 
the  other  feller." 

Since  the  place  where  the  dead  man  lay  was  on  their 
back  trail,  they  went  with  Tommy,  the  T  U  boy. 

"  Sure,  I  know  him,"  declared  Tommy,  after  one 
look  at  the  dead  face.  "  He's  named  Brindley  —  been 
with  the  Horseshoe  since  February." 

Which  simple  statement  explained  the  presence  of 
Skinny  Shindle,  but  left  Jack  Murray  completely  to 
the  imagination.  After  all,  decided  Billy,  Jack  Mur- 
ray did  not  matter,  and  promptly  forgot  him.  Had 
he  known  how  important  a  place  the  slippery  Mr.  Mur- 
ray actually  held  in  the  scheme  of  things,  he,  Billy 
Wingo,  would  not  have  been  so  casual. 

"  We  gotta  make  a  heap  of  trail,"  said  Dawson  to 
Billy,  when  Tommy  had  departed  in  suspicious  haste. 
"  That  damn  Tommy  is  going  to  the  ranch  for  the  rest 
of  his  bunch.  First  thing  we  know  we'll  lose  our  pris- 
oner." 

"  Don't  hurry  on  my  account,"  said  the  sardonic 
Slike.  "  If  I  gotta  be  hung,  lemme  be  hung  and  no  fuss 
about  it.  I  don't  want  to  ride  all  the  way  north  again.'1 


336        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  We  need  you,  Dan,"  said  Billy  briefly.  "  No  hang- 
ing goes  yet  a  while." 

Forthwith  they  began  to  "  make  a  heap  of  trail." 
It  may  as  well  be  said  at  once  that  they  saw  no  further 
signs  of  Tommy  or  any  other  of  the  T  U  boys. 

Toward  dawn  next  day  the  horses  showed  signs  of 
tiring.  "  Mine  won't  last  another  five  miles,"  said 
Johnny  Dawson. 

"  This  is  as  good  a  place  as  any,"  said  Billy  briefly. 
"  We'll  stop  here." 

They  dismounted  Slike  and  stripped  and  hobbled  the 
horses.  Slike  had  not  enjoyed  the  long  night  ride.  He 
was  disposed  to  be  peevish.  "  I  want  a  smoke,"  he 
demanded. 

Billy  ceased  pounding  coffee  and  fixed  him  with  a 
hard  eye.  "  You  won't  get  it,"  he  said  shortly. 

"  Helluva  way  to  treat  a  prisoner,"  snarled  Slike. 
'  You  done  better  by  me  when  I  was  in  jail." 

:t  Lots  of  things  have  happened  since.  But  don't 
you  fret.  I'll  give  you  what  you  deserve  in  about  five 
minutes.  I  missed  out  on  it  yesterday,  but  I'll  try  to 
see  you  don't  lose  anything  by  the  delay." 

"Huh?"  puzzled  Slike. 

*  You  remember  going  to  Miss  Walton's  ranch," 
elaborated  Billy  in  a  cold,  monotonous  tone.  "  You 
beat  her." 

"  Hell,  nothin'  to  that.    I  only  pulled  her  hair  a  few 
times  and  slammed  her  once  or  twice." 
'  You  kicked  her,  too." 

"  Not  hard,  though.  Besides,  I  had  to.  She  was 
stubborn.  My  Gawd,  you  wouldn't  begin  to  believe 
how  stubborn  that  girl  was !  " 


The  Gunfighters  337 

Billy  laid  aside  the  rock  with  which  he  had  been 
pounding  coffee.  "  I  goess  the  coffee  can  wait  better 
than  I  can." 

He  stood  up  limberly  and  unbuckled  his  cartridge 
belt  and  dropped  it  beside  Johnny  Dawson,  who  was 
slicing  bacon.  Then  he  crossed  to  Slike  and  untied 
the  knots  of  the  rope  that  bound  him.  Slike  stretched 
his  arms  and  legs  but  made  no  offer  to  rise.  Billy 
nudged  him  in  the  ribs  with  the  toe  of  his  boot. 

"  What's  that  for?  "  roared  Slike,  scrambling  to  his 
feet. 

"  I'm  going  to  give  you  the  best  licking  you  ever 
got.  YouVe  had  it  coming  a  long  time,  and  now 
you're  going  to  get  it." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  sneered  Slike.  "  Is  that  so  ?  You  ex- 
pecting to  do  all  this  without  help?" 

Fists  doubled,  Billy  started  for  Slike.  The  latter 
side-stepped  and  feinted  Billy  into  a  position  between 
himself  and  Dawson.  Slike  crouched.  His  right  hand 
flashed  downward.  The  fingers  fumbled  at  his  bootleg. 
Billy  ran  in,  expecting  to  beat  Slike  flat. 

"  Look  out!  "  cried  Dawson,  as  Slike's  hand  shot  up 
and  out,  accompanied  by  the  vicious  twinkle  of  steel. 

But  Billy,  coming  in  with  the  speed  of  a  springing 
wildcat,  slipped  a  bootsole  on  a  rock  and  fell.  Slike's 
thrust  sped  past  his  head  so  close  that  Slike's  knuckles 
brushed  his  ear. 

Billy  got  one  foot  under  himself  and  threw  up  an 
arm  in  time  to  catch  on  the  turn  the  wrist  of  Slike's 
knife  hand.  Slike  promptly  changed  hands.  But  Billy 
caught  the  other  wrist,  not,  however,  before  the  knife 
had  narrowly  missed  slicing  the  flesh  on  his  floating 


338        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

ribs.  Slike's  head  dipped  forward  and  he  sank  his 
teeth  in  Billy's  shoulder.  Billy  drove  a  knee  into  Slike's 
stomach  and  Slike  undamped  his  teeth  with  a  gasp. 
Over  he  went.  Billy  stayed  with  him. 

Dawson,  who  had  dropped  bacon  and  frying-pan  at 
the  first  blow,  saw  his  opportunity  and  lunged  down  to 
wrench  away  Slike's  knife.  Which  was  not  at  all  to 
Billy's  mind. 

"  Let  it  alone !  "  gasped  the  wrarrior.  "  He  ain't  giv- 
ing me  a  bit  o*  trouble." 

The  reluctant  Dawson  obeyed. 

Slike,  his  body  writhing  like  that  of  a  scotched  snake, 
could  not  budge  his  pinned-down  knife  hand.  Inch 
by  inch  Billy  dragged  his  own  body  forward  and  up- 
ward until  he  was  resting  on  his  knees  with  Slike  be- 
tween his  legs. 

"  Leggo  that  knife !  "  he  directed. 

Slike's  reaction  was  humanly  natural.  At  least,  there 
were  no  hobbles  on  his  tongue. 

'  Well,  all  right,  if  you  say  so,"  Billy  told  him,  and 
rejoiced  to  perceive  the  top  of  a  small  rock  not  six 
inches  from  Slike's  knife  hand. 

He  forced  the  knife  hand  inward  toward  the  rock. 
Then  he  proceeded,  with  all  his  might,  to  batter  the 
back  of  Slike's  hand  against  the  pointed  top  of  the 
rock.  Slike's  face  changed  at  the  first  blow;  at  the 
second  he  involuntarily  groaned;  at  the  third  his  fin- 
gers unclosed.  The  knife  tinkled  on  the  rock. 

Billy  pounced  on  the  knife,  threw  it  yards  away  and 
scrambled  to  his  feet.  "  Get  up,  Slike  !  Stand  on  your 
feet!  Come  and  get  it!" 

Whatever  other  thing  Slike  was,  he  was  certainly 


The  Gunfighters  339 

no  coward.  Instead  he  was  a  glutton  for  punishment. 
He  jerked  himself  to  his  feet  and  ran  headlong  into 
a  straight-arm  blow  that  made  his  nose  bleed  and  his 
neck  ache.  As  has  been  said,  Slike  had  no  science. 
Neither  had  Billy.  In  which  respect  the  fight  was 
equal.  But  Slike  was  only  fighting  for  himself.  Billy 
was  fighting  not  only  for  himself  but  to  revenge  Slike's 
treatment  of  the  girl  he  loved. 

When  he  flattened  Slike's  nose,  pleasure  ensued  — 
for  Billy.  It  was  joy  to  his  heart  when  the  next  blow 
landed  on  Slike's  right  eye  and  laid  him  all  along  the 
grass.  Three  times  Billy  knocked  Slike  down,  and 
three  times  the  killer  hopped  to  his  feet  and  came 
back  for  more.  But  after  the  third  knockdown  it  was 
noticeable  that  Slike  was  appreciably  slower  and  con- 
siderably more  cautious.  His  face  was  a  sight.  One 
eye  was  completely  closed.  His  nose  was  broken,  his 
lips  cut  and  two  teeth  were  missing. 

Slike  came  to  a  halt  in  front  of  Billy,  blew  a  bubble 
of  blood  from  his  lips  and  wiped  his  good  eye  with  the 
back  of  his  hand.  He  swayed  on  his  legs.  But  this 
display  of  weakness  was  more  apparent  than  genuine. 
Billy,  watching  Slike's  one  good  eye,  was  not  misled 
thereby.  There  was  no  hint  of  weakness  in  Slike's 
eye.  Indeed,  there  was  strength  and  hatred  a-plenty. 

Accordingly,  when  Slike  suddenly  lowered  his  head 
and  dodged  in  under  Billy's  guard  with  the  evident 
intention  of  starting  another  "  snatch  and  wrastle," 
Billy  was  ready,  very  ready.  His  uplifted  knee  met 
Slike  full  in  the  face.  Slike  straightened  instantly,  and 
Billy  hooked  his  right  to  the  point  of  the  chin.  Slike 


340        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

didn't  need  that  last  blow.  The  knee  blow  had  already 
given  him  a  clean  knockout. 

He  took  the  ground  limply  and  lay  motionless.  Billy 
stood  and  looked  at  him  and  blew  upon  his  skinned 
knuckles  and  suddenly  realized  that  it  was  a  good  old 
world,  after  all.  There  might  be  some  mean  citizens 
scattered  here  and  there.  But  they  always  got  their 
come-uppances  in  the  end. 

Dawson  joined  him.  "  Sure  looked  like  a  mule  had 
kicked  in  his  dashboard.  I  dunno  when  I  ever  saw  a 
more  complete  job.  That  face  don't  look  genuine 
a-tall." 

"  I'm  sure  ashamed  of  myself,"  muttered  Billy. 

"  Whyfor?  You  did  just  right.  I'd  have  done  the 
same  in  your  place.  You  got  no  call  to  be  ashamed." 

"  Not  for  licking  him.  That  was  all  right.  But  I 
searched  him  and  let  him  hide  out  a  butcher  knife  on 
me  in  his  bootleg  —  in  his  bootleg" 

'  That  handle  was  down  inside  the  leather.  You 
couldn't  see  it.  I  didn't." 

u  I  should  have  found  it  alia  same,"  fretted  Billy. 
*  There's  no  excuse  for  such  carelessness  —  none." 

He  went  across  to  where  he  had  thrown  the  knife 
and  picked  it  up.  He  caught  his  breath.  On  the  han- 
dle of  the  butcher  knife  the  letters  T  W  were  cut  deep 
into  the  wood. 

When,  for  the  second  time  that  day,  Slike  recovered 
consciousness,  Billy  showed  him  the  butcher  knife, 

"  How  many  butcher  kaives  did  you  take  from  Wal- 
ton's? "  he  demanded. 

"  One,"  replied  Slike. 

"  And  is  this  the  one?" 


The  Gunfighters  341 

"Sure  it  is.     Why  not?  " 

"Why,  hells  bells  I  "  exclaimed  Billy,  "then  you 
didn't  kill  Rafe  Tuckleton." 

"  First  I  knew  he  was  dead,"  Slike  said  thoughtfully. 
"As  a  rule,  I  don't  kill  my  customers,"  he  added,  with 
a  grin  rendered  more  horrible  by  his  battered  and 
bloody  features.  "  I  can't  afford  to.  Maybe  you  killed 
him  yourself.  How  about  it?  Aw,  right!  Go  to  hell 
then !  And  I  want  to  say  right  here  you  tied  my  arms 
and  legs  too  tight  I  There  ain't  no  feelin'  in  any  of 
'em!" 

Billy  paid  Slike  no  further  attention.  His  brain 
seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to  function.  "  She  said  he 
only  took  one  knife,"  he  told  himself  stupidly  and  sat 
down  to  think  it  over. 

He  had  caught  Slike.  But  he  was  no  nearer  the  solu- 
tion of  the  Tuckleton  murder  than  he  was  in  the  be- 
ginning. His  theory  that  Slike  had  killed  Tuckleton 
was  smashed  to  smithereens  by  the  discovery  of  the 
Walton  butcher  knife  in  Slike's  bootleg.  Unless  Slike 
had  taken  two  knives.  But  Slike  had  not  taken  two 
knives.  According  to  Hazel's  testimony,  he  had  taken 
only  one. 

It  was  then  that  Billy  suddenly  realized  that  he 
should  have  known  better  in  the  first  place  than  to  con- 
nect Slike  with  the  murder  of  Tuckleton.  Dan  Slike 
was  too  experienced  a  longhorn  to  leave  incriminating 
evidence  behind  him  if  he  could  help  it.  And  if  he  had 
killed  Tuckleton,  he  would  at  least  have  taken  away 
the  handle  of  the  knife.  But  the  handle  had  been  left 
beside  the  body  for  any  one  to  pick  up.  Manifestly, 
then,  it  had  been  left  there  with  the  design  to  throw 


342        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

suspicion  upon  a  person  other  than  the  murderer, — 
for  instance,  a  person  intimately  connected  with  the 
Walton  ranch. 

Obviously  the  Tuckleton  murder  and  the  O'Gorman 
murder  were  parallel  cases.  In  both,  clues  had  been 
left  to  manufacture  circumstantial  evidence  against  the 
wrong  person.  While  it  did  not  necessarily  follow  that 
the  same  brain  and  hands  had  planned  and  carried  out 
both  murders,  yet  the  point  was  worth  considering. 
For  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  lay  at  least  Tuckle- 
ton's  murderer  by  the  heels.  There  were  no  two  ways 
about  that.  Because  if  he  were  not  caught,  it  would 
only  be  a  matter  of  time  before  Rale,  by  reason  of  his 
peculiar  temperament,  would  recover  from  his  fright, 
decide  to  risk  the  wrath  to  come,  and  once  more  turn 
the  cold  light  of  suspicion  upon  Hazel  Walton.  And 
that  would  entail  her  arrest  sooner  or  later.  Indeed, 
to  Billy  Wingo  the  future  bore  the  appearance  of  a 
mighty  boggy  ford. 

Mechanically  he  began  to  play  mumbletypeg  with 
the  butcher  knife  —  palm  of  hand,  back  of  hand,  right 
fist,  left  fist,  and  had  progressed  as  far  as  his  left 
pinky  in  the  movement  known  as  off  fingers  of  each 
hand  when  he  sat  back  and  stared  at  the  knife  quiver- 
ing in  the  turf.  He  thought  he  saw  a  gleam  of  light. 
The  very  fact  of  the  two  knives,  each  a  match  of  the 
other,  was  as  obvious  a  contrariety  as  any  that  ever 
delighted  the  soul  of  Mr.  William  Noy.  Attaching  to 
the  demise  of  Rafe  Tuckleton  was  another  contrariety, 
several  others  in  fact.  Billy  checked  off  the  various 
contrarieties  on  his  fingers.  The  gleam  of  light  be- 


The  Gunfighters  343 

came  a  ray,  the  ray  broadened  to  the  bright  light  of 
complete  understanding. 

He  hugged  his  knees  and  smiled  the  pleasant  self- 
satisfied  smile  of  the  proverbial  cat  that  has  just  re- 
ceived the  canary  into  its  midst.  "  I  got  him !  I  got 
him  where  the  hair  is  short.  It's  one  complete  cinch." 

Early  one  morning  several  days  later  the  sheriff 
pro  tern,  of  Crocker  County  was  roused  by  rappings 
on  the  office  door.  Being  an  experienced  man,  Shot- 
gun Shillman  did  not  open  the  front  door.  He  went 
round  the  back  way  with  his  gun  in  his  hand.  But 
his  caution  was  needless.  For,  on  circling  the  house, 
he  found  no  one  at  the  front  door  but  Dan  Slike  — 
a  hatless  Dan  Slike  flat  on  his  back  in  the  dust,  tied 
hand  and  foot,  and  with  a  gag  in  his  mouth.  Looped 
around  Dan's  ankles  was  one  end  of  a  lariat.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  lariat  stood  Hazel  Walton's  riding 
horse. 

Later  in  the  day  Guerilla  Melody  called  on  Nate 
Samson,  asked  the  storekeeper  several  apparently  aim- 
less questions  and  leafed  through  the  cutlery  pages  of 
Nate's  hardware  catalogue.  Still  later  in  the  day 
Johnny  Dawson  rode  out  of  Golden  Bar.  Only  two 
people  besides  himself  knew  that  he  was  bound  for  the 
railroad  and  a  telegraph  line. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

CONTRARIETIES 

"  THERE'S  a  lot  of  this  stuff  I  don't  understand," 
said  Guerilla  Melody  the  day  after  Dawson's  return 
from  the  railroad.  "  Why  did  Conley  go  south  ?  Reel- 
foot  and  he  were  almighty  friendly.  Got  drunk  to- 
gether and  everything.  And  Conley  ain't  committed 
any  crime  round  here  that  I  know  of." 

"  I'm  betting  he  did,  alia  same,"  said  Billy.  "  Or 
else  why  was  he  so  particular  to  tell  those  T  U  boys 
he  was  from  Arizona?  Folks  don't  hide  where  they 
come  from  without  a  reason.  We  know  there  have 
been  two  murders  committed  here  by  unknown  mur- 
derers. It  never  occurred  to  me  till  you  said  Conley 
hadn't  committed  any  crime  that  you  know  of  that 
maybe  —  "  He  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

Guerilla  looked  bewildered.  "  What  did  Conley 
have  against  Tip?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Billy.  "  But  I  intend  to  find 
out." 

4  That's  the  trick,"  chipped  in  Dawson.  "  In  cases 
like  this  it  pays  to  dig  into  the  innards  of  everything 
you  don't  understand.  You're  almost  sure  to  find  out 
somethin'." 

"  Maybe  friend  Simon  can  tell  us  somethin',"  Billy 
said.  "  Let's  go.  It'll  be  sunrise  in  two  hours." 


Contrarieties  345 

Simon  Reelfoot,  riding  the  range  that  day,  met  a 
horseman  who  said  he  was  strayman  for  the  Wagon- 
wheel  outfit  north  of  the  West  Fork.  Did  Simon  know 
where  Park  Valley  was?  Simon  knew,  and  gave  the 
strayman  minute  directions. 

"  Shucks,"  said  the  strayman,  "  I  can't  carry  all  that 
in  my  head,  Here's  a  envelope  and  a  pencil.  Make 
a  li'l  map  like,  will  you?  " 

Simon  was  not  an  adept  with  the  pencil.  To  use 
either  it  or  a  pen  required  the  most  perfect  concen- 
tration and  his  tongue  in  his  cheek.  Wondering  greatly 
at  the  strayman' s  claimed  inability  to  remember  a  few 
simple  landmarks,  Simon  took  the  pencil  and  envelope 
and  bent  over  his  saddle  horn. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  after  three  minutes'  work,  holding 
out  the  envelope,  "  This  ought  to  fix  you  up." 

To  this  horror,  the  well-known  voice  of  Billy  Wingo 
at  his  back  concurred  readily.  "  It  ought  to,"  said  Billy 
Wingo.  "  We're  obliged  to  you,  Simon.  Kindly  clasp 
your  hands  over  your  hat." 

The  envelope  and  pencil  fell  to  the  ground  as  Simon 
obeyed.  The  strayman  dismounted  and  picked  them 
up. 

"  You  oughtn't  to  have  given  him  that  envelope," 
Billy  admonished  the  strayman.  "  It  has  the  confes- 
sion in  it.  You  got  to  be  more  careful." 

"  I  will,"  said  the  strayman  humbly,  and  tucked  the 
envelope  into  his  pocket. 

Simon  stirred  uneasily  on  his  saddle.  Confession! 
Whose  confession?  He  recalled  that  there  had  been 
several  folded  sheets  of  paper  in  the  envelope.  Of 


346        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

course,  Simon  could  not  know  that  these  sheets  were 
white, — innocent  of  either  handwriting  or  printing. 
But  Simon's  conscience  was  a  helpful  little  thing.  And 
Simon's  mind  was  prone  to  jump  at  conclusions. 

"  I'll  just  take  your  gun,  Simon,'7  murmured  Billy. 
"  I  don't  think  you'd  do  anything  reckless,  but  you 
might.  Slide  off  easy.  That's  it.  You  look  kind  of 
bewildered,  Simon.  Don't  know  how  I  got  here,  do 
you?  Easy,  like  eatin'  pie.  While  you  were  hard  at 
work  with  your  pencil,  Guerilla  and  I  were  tippytoeing 
out  of  that  stand  of  timber  behind  us  a  ways.  You 
shouldn't  be  so  trusting  of  strangers,  feller.  Keep 
your  paws  up!  Just  because  I've  felt  you  all  over  and 
haven't  found  an  extra  gun  or  knife  doesn't  signify  you 
can  do  as  you  please.  You  stand  right  still  and  steady. 
Johnny,  let's  have  that  envelope.  My  friend  will 
watch  you,  Simon,  while  I  glance  over  this." 

Billy  took  the  envelope,  fingered  out  the  sheets  of 
paper  and  unfolded  them.  His  lip  moved  as  he  sol- 
emnly looked  them  over.  It  was  apparent  to  Reelfoot 
that  he  was  refreshing  his  memory. 

4  Simon,"  Billy  said,  glancing  up  suddenly,  "  why 
did  Conley  go  South?  " 

Simon's  leathery  face  assumed  a  richly  jaundiced 
hue.  "I  — Idunno!" 

*  Yes,  you  do,"  Billy  insisted,  striking  the  sheets  of 
paper  with  his  fist.  "  We  found  Conley.  He  was  work- 
ing for  the  T  U  when  he  died." 

Simon's  face  went  even  yellower.  "  I  told  him  not 
to  go,"  muttered  Simon  Reelfoot. 

44  Conley  talked  before  he  died,"  said  Billy.     "  He 


Contrarieties  347 

told  me  some  interesting  things  about  himself  —  and 
you.  We've  got  you  dead  to  rights,  Simon."  Here 
Billy  stuffed  the  sheets  of  paper  into  his  trousers  pocket 
and  gripped  Simon  by  the  throat.  "  You  damned  mur- 
derer, what  did  you  kill  him  for?  " 

At  the  fierce  clutch  of  Billy's  fingers,  Simon's  shak- 
ing legs  refused  to  uphold  him  longer.  He  fell  on  his 
knees.  "  I  —  I  didn't  kill  him !  "  he  spluttered.  "  He 

was  dead  when " 

'  You  lie !  You  killed  him  I  Conley  said  so  !  You 
tried  to  throw  the  blame  on  me  by  leaving  behind  —  " 
Billy's  voice  trailed  off  into  silence. 

"  That  was  Conley's  idea!"  screamed  the  panicky 
Reelfoot.  "  He  got  the  hatband  and  quirt  one  day 
when  nobody  was  in  the  office.  I  didn't  have  anything 
to  do  with  it!  Conley  shot  him,  too!  " 

"  Conley  shot  him  too,  huh?  Then  you  shot  Tip 
your  own  self?  " 

"  He  was  gonna  squeal !  He  was  gonna  get  me 
mixed  into  that  Walton  murder!  They  told  me  he 
was !  He  —  he  pulled  first,  I  tell  you !  It  was  an 
even  break !  I  was  drunk !  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
doing!  Oh,  my  Gawd!" 

Billy  flung  the  groveling  Simon  from  him.  "  This 
ought  to  be  enough  for  you." 

Guerilla  wagged  an  admiring  head  as  he  set  about 
securing  the  arms  of  the  wretched  Reelfoot.  "  Gotta 
give  you  credit,  Bill.  I  never  thought  it  would  work." 

"  I  did,"  said  the  strayman,  Johnny  Dawson.  "  I've 
seen  it  done  before.  Most  folks  are  sheep  when  it 
comes  to  a  bluff." 


348        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Don't  tie  him  too  tight,  Guerilla.  Might  as  well 
ask  him  some  more  questions. " 

That  evening  there  was  another  prisoner  in  the  Gol- 
den Bar  calaboose.  "  If  they  keep  on  coming  in  like 
this,"  said  Shotgun  Shillman  to  Riley  Tyler,  "  we'll 
have  to  build  an  addition  to  the  jail." 

"  The  more  the  merrier,"  grinned  Riley  Tyler.  "  Lis- 
ten to  that  skunkified  Reelfoot !  You'd  think  he  was 
having  the  horrors,  the  way  he's  carrying  on." 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  about  leaving  a  lantern 
outside  the  cell  all  night,  account  of  Tip  haunting  him 
in  the  dark?  " 

Riley  nodded.  "  I  heard.  His  nerve  has  gone  com- 
pletely bust." 

"  It's  funny  how  he  keeps  insisting  that  Bill  Wingo 
was  with  Guerilla  and  that  Dawson  man  when  they 
captured  him.  Why,  everybody  knows  Bill  Wingo 
is  far,  far  away."  Thus  Shotgun  Shillman,  his  tongue 
in  his  cheek. 

"  Damfunny,"  Riley  assented  with  a  wink.  "  Espe- 
cially when  Guerilla  and  Dawson  said  they  hadn't  seen 
a  sign  of  Bill,  not  a  sign.  You  might  almost  think 
Simon  Reelfoot  was  mistaken." 

1  You  might,"  chuckled  Shotgun  Shillman.  "  I  won- 
der, speaking  as  man  to  man,  and  not  as  sheriff  pro 
tern,  to  his  deputy,  where  Bill  is  anyway." 

u  Probably  in  town  this  minute.  It  would  be  just 
like  him." 

u  Guessin'  thataway  is  bad  business,"  Shotgun  re- 
proved Riley.  "  Besides,  you're  mistaken.  If  we 
thought  Billy  was  in  town,  it  would  be  our  duty  to 


Contrarieties  349 

hop  out  and  arrest  him,  wouldn't  it?  You  bet  it 
would.  So  we  don't  think  he's  in  town.  That  is  cer- 
tain sure.  You  wanna  mix  a  li'l  common  sense  with 
your  job,  Riley.  You're  too  half-baked  by  a  jugful. 
You  keep  on  expressin'  opinions  so  free  and  easy,  and 
first  thing  you  know  folks  will  think  we  ain't  so  anxious 
to  arrest  Bill." 

"  Some  of  'em  think  so  now,"  said  the  unimpressed 
Riley. 

44  Ain't  that  the  public  all  over  1  "  exclaimed  the  justly 
indignant  Shotgun.  u  Tell  you,  an  honest  officer  of  the 
law  is  never  appreciated,  never.  Is  that  bottle  empty, 
Riley?" 

In  the  meantime  Billy  Wingo  was  calmly  eating  his 
supper  in  the  house  of  Guerilla  Melody.  On  Guerilla's 
bed  Dawson  was  snoring  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

44  What  next?  "  asked  Guerilla  Melody,  when  Billy 
was  lighting  his  after-supper  cigarette.  44  With  Tip's 
murder  settled  and  knowin'  who  killed  Tuckle- 
ton " 

44  Certainly  doesn't  help  us  any  with  the  stage  hold- 
up," cut  in  Billy.  44  Before  we  spring  the  joke  in  the 
Tuckleton  deal,  I've  got  to  do  a  li'l  more  work  on  the 
hold-up.  Dumping  Rafe's  murderer  won't  do  me  a 
heap  of  good  while  I'm  breaking  rock  for  twenty  years 
at  Hillsville.  Don't  look  so  glum,  Guerilla.  There's 
a  trail  out.  There  always  is." 

At  the  tail  of  the  woods  a  convivial  voice  in  the 
street  broke  into  boisterous  song.  44  Who's  that?" 
asked  Billy. 


350        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

u  It's  Jerry  Fern,"  said  Guerilla  indifferently.  "  He's 
drunk  again." 

"  Ain't  it  kind  of  new  for  him?  He  never  used  to 
drink  much." 

"  Oh,  he  can't  stand  prosperity." 

"  Prosperity?" 

"  Yep.  Aunt  died,  left  him  some  money.  He  ain't 
drove  for  nearly  a  month." 

11  The  lucky  devil.     Big  legacy?  " 

"  I  dunno  how  much.  Fair  size,  I  guess.  Must 
have  been  for  Crafty  to  lend  him  money  to  play  with." 

"What?" 

"  Don't  get  so  excited,"  cautioned  Guerilla,  with  a 
nervous  glance  over  his  shoulder.  l  You've  no  idea 
how  your  voice  carries.  Even  if  you  don't  mind  being 
dumped,  I  do.  And  I  don't  care  three  whoops  about 
spending  two  or  three  years  in  jail  for  giving  aid  and 
comfort  to " 

"  Shut  up,  for  Gawd's  sake !  "  begged  Billy.  "  Do 
you  know  Crafty's  been  lending  money  to  Jerry?  " 

"  Didn't  I  see  him  with  my  own  eyes  more  than 
once?  But " 

"  Say,  don't  you  see  anything  else  yet?  " 

"  I  see  you,  but  that  ain't  sayin'  much." 

"  Guerilla,  if  you  weren't  so  serious  you'd  be  funny. 
But  don't  get  down-hearted.  I'm  as  foolish  as  you 
are,  every  bit.  Why,  when  they  had  me  corraled  in 
Sam  Larder's  house,  and  Crafty  blatted  right  out  loud 
that  he  didn't  know  Jerry  Fern  was  driving  that  trip 
and  Tip  and  Sam  said  later  that  they  knew  Jerry  was, 


Contrarieties  351 

I  had  the  answer  to  the  puzzle  if  I  had  the  sense  to  fol- 
low it  up.  Especially  when  it  turned  out  later  that 
Jerry,  who  always  gives  a  bandit  a  battle,  didn't  even 
try  to  lock  horns  with  Crafty.  But  I  never  caught 
the  connection  till  you  said  Crafty  was  lending  money 
to  Jerry.  Lending  him  money !  Do  you  think  you  can 
get  Jerry  Fern  in  here  and  make  him  drunk?  " 

"  When?  "  asked  Guerilla,  beginning  to  get  a  glim- 
mering. 

"  To-night.  Now.  I  want  to  get  Jerry  so  full  he'll 
talk.  Tell  us  all  he  knows,  see?" 

"  I'll  make  him  drunk,"  Guerilla  said  earnestly. 
"  And  I'll  make  him  talk,  or  there  ain't  a  drop  of  virtue 
in  Old  Crow." 

Guerilla  flipped  on  his  hat  and  departed. 

Half  an  hour  later  Guerilla  returned,  bringing  his 
sheaves  with  him.  And,  oh,  the  sheaves  were  merry 
and,  oh,  the  sheaves  were  drunk.  Guerilla  himself 
was  giving  an  admirable  imitation  of  a  roistering 
blade. 

u  Meet  my  friend,  Mister  Johnny  Dawson,"  said 
Guerilla,  waving  an  expansive  hand  toward  the  erst- 
while strayman. 

"  Huh,  h'are  you,  Misher  Juh-johnny  Duh-duh-daw- 
son,"  said  Jerry  Fern,  solemnly  shoving  out  a  wavering 
paw  and  missing  the  mark  by  eighteen  inches. 
"  Washer  name  of  other  tut-tut-twin  ?  " 

For  a  bad  moment  Dawson  feared  that  Billy  Wingo 
had  been  foolish  enough  to  come  in  from  the  other 
room.  Then  he  understood.  "  His  name's  Eliphalet," 


352        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

he  made  reply,  solemnly  turning  to  the  empty  air  on 
his  right. 

Jerry  Fern  again  pumphandled  the  empty  air.  "  Pup- 
pup-pleased  meetcha,"  he  stuttered.  "  Cuc-cuc-cuc-can't 
pup-pronounce  name,  but  thash  all  ri'.  All  li'l  friends 
tut-together.  Wheresh  bottle?  You  gug-got  bub-bub- 
bottle,  Guh-guh-gil-Guerilla  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,"  urged  Guerilla,  steering  Jerry  to  an- 
chor. "  Here's  your  bottle.'1 

Jerry  Fern  clasped  the  bottle  to  his  bosom  and  sang 
a  lusty  stave. 

"Rye  whisky,  rye  whisky, 
Rye  whisky,  I  cry. 
If  I  don't  get  rye  whisky 
I  surely  will  die." 

Like  the  boy  in  the  story,  Jerry  could  sing  without 
stuttering.  But  when  he  began  again  to  talk,  his  enun- 
ciation was  worse  than  ever.  "  Buh-buh-buh-whistle  for 
the  crossing  —  but  I  ain't  gug-gug-gargle  gonna  die. 
Nun-nun-not  me.  I  gug-got  rye  whuh-whisky." 

He  put  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  went  through  all  the 
motions  of  taking  a  hearty  pull.  "  Fuf-funny,"  he  said, 
holding  the  bottle  at  arm's  length.  "  Wuh-wuh  whisky 
lul-lul-lost  all  its  taste." 

*  Take  the  cork  out,"  suggested  Guerilla. 

"  Cuc-cuc-cork?  "  smiled  Jerry  Fern.  "  I'll  tut-take 
cue-cork  out." 

So  saying  he  smashed  the  bottle  neck  against  the 
edge  of  the  table,  broke  it  short  off,  and  drank  with- 
out ceasing  till  the  bottle  was  empty.  He  held  the  bot- 


Contrarieties  353 

tie  against  the  light.  He  pressed  it  to  his  ear.  He 
shook  it.  Then  he  tossed  it  nonchalantly  over  his  shoul- 
der, laid  his  cheek  on  the  table  and  began  to  snore. 

This  would  never  do.  Guerilla  and  Dawson  shook 
him  awake. 

"  Mush  been  shleep,"  mumbled  Jerry,  knuckling  his 
eyes.  "Gimme  anuzzer  dud-drink." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Guerilla  firmly.  "  Is  Felix  Craft 
a  good  friend  of  yours,  Jerry?  " 

"  Helluva  good  fuf-fuf-friend,"  was  the  instant 
reply. 

"  He  doesn't  pay  you  enough,"  prompted  the  care- 
fully drilled  Dawson. 

"  Thash  whu-what  I  tut-told  him !  "  cried  Jerry  Fern, 
pounding  the  table  with  a  vehement  fist  "  I  ought  tut- 
tut-to  have  num-more." 

"  He's  treatin'  you  mean,"  said  Guerilla.  "  He  ain't 
goin'  to  give  you  any  more  money." 

"  Yesh  he  wuh-will,"  insisted  Jerry. 

"  He  told  me  different."     Thus  Dawson. 

"  Yesh  he  wuh-will.  Huh-he'll  have  to  gimme  all 
money  I  want.  Pup-put  him  in  juh-juh-jail  if  he  don't." 

Guerilla  and  Dawson  looked  toward  the  doorway 
giving  into  the  other  room.  Then  they  began  to 
laugh  immoderately.  "  That's  a  good  one,"  cried 
Guerilla,  wiping  his  eyes.  "  You  can't  put  Felix  Craft 
in  jail.  He  hasn't  done  anything  wrong." 

"  Oh,  ain't  he?  "  flared  Jerry  Fern  with  all  the  drunk- 
ard's irritation  at  being  disbelieved.  "  I  know  more 
abub-bub-bout  Fuf-felix  Cue-craft  than  you  thuh-think. 


354        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

I  cue-can  muh-make  Fuf-felix  Cue-craft  lul-lie  dud-down 
and  rur-roll  over." 

"  Yes,  you  can."     With  derision. 

"  Yeah,  I  cue-can!" 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?  " 

"  I  know  all  rur-right,"  vaguely. 

This  was  maddening.  Billy,  in  the  other  room, 
yearned  to  take  Jerry  Fern  by  the  scruff  of  his  drunken 
neck  and  squeeze  the  truth  out  of  him. 

"  You  don't  know  a  thing  about  Felix  Craft,"  per- 
sisted Guerilla.  "  Not  a  thing." 

"  Damn  shame  he  don't  pay  you  enough,"  chipped  in 
Dawson. 

"  Maybe  if  I  went  to  him  I  could  get  more  money  for 
you,"  suggested  Guerilla.  He  waited  a  moment  for 
the  meaning  of  this  to  sink  in  before  adding,  "  What 
will  I  tell  him." 

"  Tut-tell  him  I'll  tell  if  he  dud-don't  pup-pay." 

This  sounded  promising.     "  Tell  what?  " 

"  Tut-tell  whuh-who  held  up  the  sush-sush-stage." 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  said  Guerilla.  "  Felix  told 
me  all  about  that.  He  said  you  didn't  help  him  out 
a-tall." 

Jerry  Fern  was  instantly  up  in  arms.  "  I  dud-did 
so,"  he  chattered.  "  He  knows  bub-better.  Did- 
didn't  he  plan  it  all  out  wuh-with  mum-me  nun-nun-not 
to  cuc-cuc-cut  down  on  him,  and  didn't  I  tut-tell  the  pup- 
passengers  to  muh-make  sure  of  Bub-bill's  clothes  and 
the  bub-brass  gug-gug-guard  of  his  six-shu-shooter? 
Did-didn't  I?  Did-didn't  I?  Yeah,  and  his  huh-horse 
and  all  too?  Dud-didn't  I  do  all  them  thuh-things 


Contrarieties  355 

acc-acc-accordin'  to  cue-contract?  Did-didn't  I? 
Cue-course  I  did.  And  if  Fuf-felix  do-don't  pay  up, 
I'll  pup-put  him  in  jail." 

"  That's  right,"  Guerilla  soothed  him.  "  Do  any- 
thing you  want  with  him."  He  went  to  the  door  of 
the  other  room  and  whispered,  "  Has  he  said  enough 
Bill?" 

"  About,"  answered  Billy,  pushing  his  chair  back  and 
standing  up. 

"  But  maybe  he  won't  repeat  it  under  oath  when  he's 
sober,"  worried  Guerilla. 

"  We  won't  wait  that  long.  We'll  sic  him  on  Felix 
right  now.  You  go  find  out  where  Felix  is,  will  you, 
Guerilla,  and  —  Here,  wait  a  shake!  Better  have 
Shotgun  Shillman  and  Riley  Tyler  in  on  this.  Huh? 
Course  not !  Don't  tell  'em  I'm  here.  Tell  'em " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 

JONESY'S  ULTIMATUM 

"  You  can't  tell  me  that  infernal  Bill  Wingo  ain't  at 
the  bottom  of  all  this  business!  "  snarled  Felix  Craft. 
"  Guerilla  Melody  and  that  Dawson  friend  of  his 
didn't  get  Slike  by  themselves  any  more  than  I  did. 
I  tell  you  flat,  Bill  Wingo  was  the  boss  of  that  job. 
He  was  the  brains,  and  you  can't  tell  me  different." 

"  And  there  was  a  time  when  we  thought  Bill  didn't 
have  any  brains,"  Sam  Larder  grieved  bitterly. 

"  I  didn't,"  avowed  the  district  attorney.  "  I  al- 
ways knew " 

"  Oh,  you !  "  interrupted  Felix  with  a  sneer.  "  You 
know  it  all,  you  do.  You  know  so  much,  maybe  you'll 
explain  why  Reelfoot  says  you  told  him  Tip  O'Gorman 
was  gonna  tangle  him  up  in  the  Walton  murder  and 
that  the  easiest  way  was  for  him  to  down  Tip." 

"  He  says  Rafe  Tuckleton  told  him  that,"  corrected 
the  district  attorney. 

"  He  says  you  did  too,"  accused  Sam  Larder. 
"  What  did  you  tell  him  a  thing  like  that  for?  " 

"  Reelfoot's  a  liar,"  declared  the  district  attorney. 
"  I  never  told  him  anything  of  the  kind.  Why  should 
I?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I'd  like  to  find  out."  The  fat 
man's  stare  was  bright  with  suspicion. 


Jonesy's  Ultimatum  357 

The  district  attorney  bristled.  "  Good  Lord,  man, 
I  was  always  friendly  with  Tip." 

1  You  were  friendlier  with  Rafe  Tuckleton,"  point- 
ed out  Felix,  "  and  we  all  know  Tip  didn't  have  any 
use  for  Rafe  after  that  Walton  deal,  and  Rafe  knew 


it." 


!<  It's  just  possible,"  put  in  Sam  Larder,  "  that  Rafe 
put  Reelfoot  up  to  downing  Tip." 

"  In  which  case,"  supplemented  Felix,  "  you  bein'  so 
friendly  with  Rafe,  it  would  be  natural  for  you  to  help 
him." 

"  Next  thing  you'll  be  saying  I  killed  Tip."  Thus 
the  district  attorney  with  sarcasm. 

"  No,  because  that  wouldn't  be  true.  I  know  you 
didn't  kill  him.  But  I'm  not  sure  you  aren't  an  access- 
ory before  and  after  the  fact." 

The  district  attorney  went  pale.  But  he  made  no 
attempt  to  go  after  his  gun.  Not  against  Felix  Craft. 
Not  now  at  any  rate.  "  I'll  settle  this  with  you  later," 
he  began.  "  I " 

"  You'll  never  settle  anything  with  anybody,"  Felix 
flung  the  insult  with  contempt. 

"  We'll  gain  nothing  by  fighting  among  ourselves," 
went  on  the  district  attorney  evenly.  "If  we  don't 
stick  together,  we'll  hang  together,  and  you  can  gamble 
on  that.  If  Slike  talks " 

"  He'll  implicate  you  and  Tuckleton,"  Larder  chip- 
ped in  swiftly.  "  We're  out  of  that  proposition." 

"  But  we  all  aided  him  to  escape  from  jail,  so  we  are 
all  guilty  of  felony.  If  Slike  should  choose  to  blat 
about  it  —  "  The  district  attorney  left  the  remainder 
of  the  sentence  to  his  comrades'  imagination. 


358        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  He's  right/'  said  Sam  Larder  suddenly.  "  We've 
got  to  stick  together." 

"All  rig^it,"  Felix  Cm  ft  said  grudgingly,  "I'll 
wait  until  we're  out  of  this  muss  before  I  ask  you  any 
more  questions  about  egging  Reelfoot  to  down  Tip 
O'Gorman,  Rale.  Afterward  I'll  get  the  truth  out  of 
you  if  I  have  to  choke  you  to  death  first.  Oh,  you 
needn't  show  your  teeth  at  me,  feller.  You  won't  bite." 

The  district  attorney  swallowed  hard.  "You'll  find 
your  suspicion  is  baseless,  Felix,  baseless  and  unjust. 
I  had  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  the  murder  of  Tip 
O'Gorman.  Whoever  told  you " 

"  Nobody  told  me  anything.     I " 

"  Let  it  go  for  now,"  broke  in  Sam  Larder.  "  We've 
got  to  think  of  our  skins.  And  if  we  don't  catch  Bill 
Wingo,  they'll  be  gone  skins." 

"  You  bet  they  will,"  said  the  district  attorney. 
"  That  man  at  large  is  a  menace.  He'd  bushwhack 
any  or  all  of  us  three  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
He's  —  he's  capable  of  anything." 

"  I  know  he's  capable  of  anything,"  Sam  Larder 
said  with  deep  feeling,  thinking  of  Billy's  escape  from 
the  Larder  ranch  house.  "And  I'd  give  a  good  deal 
to  know  he  was  two  feet  underground.  But  Gawd 
knows  we  can't  do  more  than  we  have  done  to  catch 
him.  Felix  and  me  have  ridden  ourselves  bowlegged 
combin'  the  Medicines  for  him." 

"  You  bet  we  have,"  agreed  Felix.  "  There  ain't 
a  square  foot  of  those  mountains  we  don't  know  inti- 
mate. Speaking  personal,  I've  ridden  —  "  He  paused 
and  looked  across  at  Sam  Larder.  "  That  bet  was  I'd 
ride  more  than  six  hundred  miles  in  sixty  days.  Re- 


Jonesy's  Ultimatum  359 

member,  Sam?  And  the  sixty  days  ain't  up  yet,  and 
I've  ridden  more  than  six  hundred  already." 

"'What  bet's  that?"  asked  the  district  attorney 
chattily,  anxious  to  reestablish  friendly  relations. 
"  Who  you  bettin'  with?  " 

"  Nobody  you're  interested  in,"  parried  Felix  Craft, 
it  having  been  thought  better  to  keep  the  district  at- 
torney in  the  dark  regarding  the  happenings  at  the 
Larder  ranch  house  on  the  day  of  the  stage  hold-up. 

"  I'll  go  the  limit  we've  covered  a  thousand  miles," 
groaned  Sam.  "  I've  lost  thirty  pounds  myself.  I 
don't  believe  Bill  ever  went  near  the  Medicines." 

"  Oh,  he  went  there,  all  right,"  said  the  district  at- 
torney. "  Take  my  word " 

A  pounding  on  the  office  door  cut  the  sentence  in  half. 

"  You  are  certainly  jumpy  this  evening,  Rale,"  Felix 
Craft  said  dryly.  "  Open  the  door.  Maybe  it's  our 
friend  Bill." 

The  district  attorney  obeyed  with  caution.  Not  that 
he  expected  Billy.  But  then,  he  did  not  quite  know 
what  to  expect.  That  it  would  be  something  to  trouble 
him  he  was  positive.  He  was  not  disappointed.  It 
was  a  trio  of  the  Tuckleton  outfit,  to  wit,  the  foreman, 
Jonesy,  and  two  punchers,  Ben  Shanklin  and  Tim  Mul- 
lin.  All  three  were  in  the  worst  of  tempers. 

"  Look  here,  Rale,"  Jonesy  began  without  prelimin- 
ary, "  you've  fooled  with  us  long  enough,  and  we're 
sick  of  it." 

"  We  want  action,"  rapped  out  Ben  Shanklin. 

"  You  can't  come  any  of  this  high  and  mighty  stuff 
over  me,"  said  the  district  attorney,  with  an  eye  that 
flickered  in  spite  of  himself.  "  I  don't  know  what 


360        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

you're  talking  about,  but  if  you  want  anything,  you'll 
have  to  ask  for  it  in  the  right  way,  and  maybe  you'll 
get  it  and  maybe  you  won't." 

"  Is  that  so?"  fleered  Jonesy.  "  We'll  see  about 
that.  What  have  you  done  in  Rafe's  case?  " 

"  We  hope  to  land  the  murderer  very  soon.  We 
have  several  clues.  We " 

Jonesy  banged  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a  force 
that  made  the  windows  dance.  "  Shut  up !  You  and 
your  '  we's !  '  Rafe's  murderer  is  that  damn  niece  of 
Walton's,  and  you  know  it.  You  had  her  in  the  jug 
and  you  turned  her  loose.  The  evidence  was  insufficient 
to  hold  her  on,  you  said.  You  said  at  that  time  you 
had  evidence  against  Bill  Wingo  and  expected  to  catch 
him  soon.  You  haven't  caught  him,  and  we  want  to 
know  what  the  evidence  against  him  is.  What  is  it? 
C'mon!  Spit  it  out!  " 

"  Now  look  here,"  temporized  the  district  attorney, 

"  I  can't  tell  you " 

'  You  bet  you  can't,"  interrupted  the  angry  Shanklin. 

'  Cause    why?     '  Cause   you    haven't    any   evidence 

against  him!     The  only  evidence  you've  got  is  against 

Hazel  Walton,  and  you've  got  enough  of  that  to  put 

her  over  the  jumps." 

"Lemme  do  the  talkin',  Ben,"  directed  Jonesy. 
"  Look  here,  Rale,  either  you  tell  us  what  evidence  you 
got  against  Bill  Wingo,  or  you  issue  a  warrant  for 
Hazel  Walton's  arrest.  One  or  the  other.  Take 
your  choice." 

"  Say,  are  you  friends  of  Bill  Wingo?  "  demanded 
the  district  attorney. 


Jonesy's  Ultimatum  361 

"  You  know  better  than  that,"  snapped  back  Jonesy. 
"  It's  just  that  we're  gonna  know  what's  what." 

"  But  what  good  will  it  do  to  rearrest  Hazel  Wal- 
ton?" 

"  Then  you  haven't  any  evidence  against  Bill  Win- 
go?  "  persisted  Jonesy. 

"  I  didn't  say  that.     I " 

"  If  you  can't  tell  us  what  the  evidence  is,  we'll  take 
it  you  haven't  any.  I  knew  there  was  some  trick  in  it 
when  you  turned  Hazel  loose.  You  and  your  evidence 
against  Bill  Wingo !  You  lousy  liar,  you  gotta  get  up 
early  in  the  morning  to  pile  us !  You  listen  to  me ! 
You  issue  a  warrant  for  that  girl's  arrest  immediate !  " 

"  I  can't,"  denied  the  district  attorney.  "  I  haven't 
the  power  to  issue  warrants.  No  justice  of  the  peace 
has  yet  been  appointed  to  fill  Driver's  place,  and  the 
nearest  judge  is  Donelson  at  Hillsville." 

"  Under  the  law,"  horned  in  Felix  Craft,  suddenly 
choosing  his  side,  u  when  a  felony  has  been  committed, 
and  there  is  reasonable  cause  for  believing  that  the 
person  to  be  arrested  has  committed  it,  that  person 
may  be  arrested  without  a  warrant." 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  want  anything  to  happen  to 
Hazel  Walton,"  fleered  the  district  attorney. 

"  I  don't  v/ant  her  hurt,  that's  all.  I  haven't  any 
objection  to  her  being  tried  for  the  murder  of  Tuck- 
leton.  But  I  ain't  going  to  have  you  haze  her  around. 
Understand?" 

"  There  y'are,"  said  Jonesy.  "  You  don't  need  a 
warrant  for  the  girl.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  give 
your  orders  to  Shotgun  and  Riley.  They'll  do  the 
rest." 


362         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  But  after  turning  her  loose  thisaway  —  "  began 
the  thoroughly  frightened  district  attorney. 

"  You  can  rearrest  her  and  have  her  tried  on  that 
butcher-knife  evidence/'  insisted  the  stubborn  Jonesy. 
"  Just  going  by  what  she  says  herself,  there's  enough  to 
fix  her  clock  twice  over.  You  dump  her,  Rale,  and 
dump  her  quick." 

"  Or  we'll  fix  your  clock,"  inserted  Tim  Mullin. 

The  hapless  district  attorney  cast  his  distressed  gaze 
this  way  and  that.  But  every  eye  that  met  his  either 
was  unfriendly  or  wrathfully  hostile.  Certainly  there 
was  no  help  for  him  in  that  room.  The  district  at- 
torney shuddered.  He  knew  Jonesy  and  the  rest  of 
the  Tuckleton  outfit;  knew,  too,  if  he  did  not  do  as 
these  men  of  violence  demanded,  that  they  would  make 
him  hard  to  find.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  obeyed 
them,  Bill  Wingo  would  as  surely  kill  him.  The  dis- 
trict attorney  shuddered  again. 

''What  you  shivering  about?"  demanded  the  sar- 
castic Tim  Mullin. 

The  district  attorney  squared  his  afflicted  shoulders 
and  did  the  obvious, —  chose  the  more  remote  of  the 
two  evils.  "  I'll  send  Shotgun  and  Tyler  to  Prescott's 
to-morrow,"  he  said,  rose  to  his  feet  and, —  the  door 
flew  open,  and,  Jerry  Fern,  wild-eyed  with  liquor, 
stumbled  into  the  room.  The  stage  driver  rolled 
straight  to  Felix  Craft  and  pawed  him.  "  Fuf-felix," 
he  babbled,  "  I  wan'  shush-shome  mon-money." 

The  furious  Felix  shook  him  off.  But  Jerry  Fern 
was  nothing  if  not  persistent.  He  returned  with  bel- 
lowings. 

The   grinning   faces   of   Guerilla    Melody,    Johnny 


Jonesy's  Ultimatum  363 

Dawson,  Shotgun  and  Riley  looked  in  through  the 
open  doorway. 

"  Come  along,  Jerry,"  called  Guerilla.  "  We  been 
hunting  you  all  over." 

Jerry  Fern  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  coming 
along.  He  had  another  and  very  definite  end  in  view. 
u  Fuf-felix,  gug-gimme  shome  mum-money!  " 

Felix  bit  off  a  curse.  "  Look  here,  Jerry,"  he  said 
soothingly,  patting  the  hysterical  drunkard  on  the  back, 
"  you  gc  home  and  sleep  it  off.  You  don't  want  to  go 
whoppin'  round  this  way  at  your  age." 

The  district  attorney,  Jonesy  and  his  two  punchers 
stared.  This  was  another  Felix.  The  Felix  they 
knew  would  have  knocked  the  sot  down. 

"  I  wuh-wuh-wan'  shush-shome  mum-money,"  gar- 
gled Jerry,  even  as  Billy's  four  friends  pushed  in 
through  the  open  doorway. 

"  You  come  along  with  me,"  urged  Felix,  gently 
propelling  Jerry  toward  the  street. 

Jerry  braced  his  feet  mulewise.  "  I  wuh-won't!  I 
wuh-won't!  I  wuh-wan'  mum-money  you  promised 


me." 


"  I  didn't  promise  you  a  nickel,"  said  Felix,  wrestling 
with  his  emotions.  "  But  come  along,  and  I'll  give 
you  some  money  if  you're  hard  up." 

uHuh-howmuch?" 

"  Plenty.  I'll  give  you  what  you  deserve."  There 
was  cream  and  butter  in  the  gambler's  voice,  but  there 
was  grisly  menace  in  his  restless  eyes. 

"  Gug-guve  mum-me  more  than  you  gug-gave  bub- 
before?" 

"  Yes,  yes.     C'mon!" 


364        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Wuh-want  mum-money  now!"  yelped  the  con- 
tumacious Jerry,  "  or  I'll  pup-put  you  in  jail!" 

At  which  Felix  lost  his  patience  and  his  head  and 
gave  Jerry  the  bum's  rush  through  the  doorway.  Jerry 
skidded  across  the  sidewalk  and  slid  a  yard  on  his  nose. 
This  annoyed  him  considerably.  He  sat  up,  supporting 
himself  on  a  wavering  elbow  and  squalled,  "  Yuh-you 
nun-needn't  thuh-think  I'm  gug-gonna  lul-lie  for  you 
nun-no  longer!  If  you  dud-don't  gug-gimme  plenty 
mum-money,  I'm  gug-gonna  tell  folks  how  yuh-you  huh- 
held  up  the  sush-stage  yourself  all  dressed  up  in  Bill 
Wingo's  clothes  sho  you  cue-could  throw  the  bub-blame 
on  him!  " 

Most  certainly  then  the  gambler  would  have  put  a 
bullet  through  Jerry  Fern  had  not  Shotgun  Shillman 
and  Riley  Tyler  been  too  quick  for  him. 

"  Now,  now,  Felix,  calm  down,"  suggested  Shotgun. 

"  He's  a  liar!  "  foamed  Felix,  struggling  to  jerk  his 
gun  arm  free.  "  I  never  held  up  the  stage !  Bill 
Wingo  did  it  himself!  Ask  Sam  Larder!  " 

"Was  Sam  there,  too?"  said  Riley,  with  fresh  in- 
terest. "  Here,  Sam,  wait  a  minute.  What's  your 
hurry?" 

"  Got  to  see  a  man,"  mumbled  Sam.  "  Be  right 
back." 

"  Stay  a  while,"  invited  Riley  Tyler. 

Sam  Larder  regarded  the  muzzle  of  Riley's  gun. 
"  All  right,"  said  Sam  Larder. 

"  Felix,"  said  Shotgun  Shillman,  "  I  don't  want  to 
plug  you." 

Felix  Craft  took  the  hint. 

Johnny    Dawson    went    out    into    the    street    and 


Jonesy's  Ultimatum  365 

returned  with  Jerry  Fern,  who  had  forgotten  his 
grievance  against  Felix  Craft  and  wished  only  to  sleep. 

Shotgun  Shillman  looked  at  the  district  attorney. 
"  Rale,  this  sort  of  puts  a  crimp  in  the  notion  that  Bill 
Wingo  held  up  the  stage. " 

"  It  looks  like  it,"  admitted  the  district  attorney, 
fumbling  the  papers  on  his  desk.  "  Of  course,  we'll 
have  to  do  some  more  investigating  first." 

"  Before  any  investigating  is  done,  we  want  Hazel 
Walton  arrested,"  tucked  in  the  malevolent  Jonesy. 

"  All  right !  All  right !  "  snarled  the  badgered  Rale. 
"  I'll  have  her  arrested  first  thing  in  the  morning." 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-SIX 

THE   FOOL-KILLER 

THE  district  attorney,  having  looked  carefully  to 
the  fastenings  of  his  windows,  tucked  a  six  shooter 
under  his  pillow  and  began  to  unlace  his  shoes.  Came 
a  rapping  at  his  chamber  door  and  the  voice  of  his 
housekeeper. 

"  Say,  Art,  here's  another  of  your  infernal  friends 
at  the  kitchen  door.  Says  his  name's  Johnson." 

The  district  attorney,  jumping  at  a  conclusion,  im- 
mediately reached  for  his  six-shooter.  "  I  don't  know 
any  Johnsons.  Not  around  here,  anyway.  What's  he 
look  like?" 

"  Middlin'  tall,  scrubby  lot  of  black  whiskers,  talks 
sort  of  thick  like." 

"  Pebbles  under  his  tongue,  most  likely.  Tell  him 
to  come  into  the  kitchen,  so  I  can  get  a  look  without 
him  knowing." 

"  He  won't  come  in.  Says  he  wants  you  to  come  to 
the  door  your  own  self.  Says  it's  important." 

At  which  the  district  attorney  was  more  than  ever 

certain   that   the  midnight  visitor  was   Billy  Wingo. 

'  You  go  tell  him  that  he'll  have  to  come  into  the 

kitchen  before  I'll  talk  to  him.      Close  the  kitchen  door 

most  to.     I  can  look  at  him  through  the  crack." 

The  housekeeper  departed,  and  the  district  attorney 


The  Fool-killer  367 

slipped  off  his  shoes  and  tip-toed  into  the  hall.  The 
housekeeper,  hair  in  curl  papers  and  wearing  a  wrapper, 
met  him  before  he  reached  the  kitchen  door. 

"  He  says  he  won't  come  in,"  she  told  him,  u  and 
told  me  to  tell  you  he  wanted  to  see  about  a  note  for 
five  thousand  dollars  he  has  in  his  pocket." 

"  Now  I  know  who  it  is,"  said  the  district  attorney. 
"  You  go  to  bed.  I'll  let  him  in." 

After  the  district  attorney  heard  the  slam  and  follow- 
ing click  of  his  housekeeper's  door,  he  went  into  the 
kitchen,  turned  down  the  flame  of  the  lamp  and  opened 
the  kitchen  door. 

"  That  you,  Rale?  "  inquired  a  muffled  voice. 

"Yes!      Come  in!      Come  in!" 

The  man  in  outer  darkness  spat  out  two  pebbles. 
"  Is  that  damn  woman  there?  "  he  asked  in  the  natural 
tone  of  voice  of  Jack  Murray. 

"  No!     Come  in!     I  want  to  shut  the  door." 

Jack  Murray  entered  quickly. 

"  What  in  hell  are  you  doing  here?  "  demanded  the 
district  attorney,  when  he  and  the  other  were  behind 
the  closed  door  of  the  office.  "  Don't  you  know " 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  Jack  Murray  said,  seating 
himself  in  the  nearest  chair.  "  Ain't  you  glad  to  see 
me?" 

"  Not  very,"  the  district  attorney  said  frankly.  "  If 
you  get  caught " 

"  I  ain't  gonna  get  caught.  The  man  ain't  born  yet  to 
catch  me.  I  suppose  you  got  the  money  for  that  note." 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  Why  haven't  you?" 

"  I  couldn't  raise  it." 


368        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you?  Ain't  you  got  any 
credit  left?" 

"  Folks  won't  lend  money  unless  they  get  security, 
and  I  haven't  any  security  that  hasn't  already  been  put 
up." 

"He  didn't  ask  for  security,"  thus  Jack  Murray 
with  an  indescribable  leer. 

"  That  —  was  —  different." 

"  I  guess  it  was.  Yeah.  I  always  had  an  idea  you 
were  a  rich  man." 

"  A  lot  of  people  thought  so,"  the  district  attorney 
said  bitterly.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've  been  hard 
pressed  for  money  all  my  life.  I've  always  had  a  hand 
in  too  many  deals." 

"  You  were  able  to  chip  in  on  that  reward  for  me 
without  any  trouble." 

"  I  knew  I'd  never  have  to  pay  it.  Some  day,  when 
all  my  different  enterprises  pan  out,  I'll  have  money, 
but  now  I  haven't  got  any." 

"  How  about  that  bribe  in  the  Jacksboro  range  case 
last  fall?  Why,  they  must  have  paid  you  all  of  three 
or  four  thousand  dollars." 

The  district  attorney  shook  his  head.      u  No,  only 
twenty-five  hundred,  and  two  thousand  of  that  went 
for  some  insurance  I  had  to  pay  in  January." 
c  Two  thousand  dollars  for  insurance !  " 

"  That's  what  I  said." 

'  You're  lying.  Whoever  heard  of  two  thousand 
dollars  for  insurance?  " 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  the  only  one.  Rafe  had  to  pay  the 
same.  And  Tip  a  thousand.  Oh,  never  mind  trying 
to  understand  it.  It's  too  long  a  story  now." 


The  Fool-killer  369 

"  I  guess  it  is.  I  ain't  carin'  much  about  listening 
to  any  such  stories,  anyway.  I  didn't  ride  alia  way 
north  from  Dorothy  just  for  that.  I  want  the  money 
for  that  note." 

"  I  haven't  it,  and  you  could  have  gotten  that  in- 
formation by  writing  for  it.  You  didn't  have  to  take 
the  trip.  You " 

"  The  money  ain't  all  I  come  for.  I  want  to  settle 
my  li'l  account  with  Bill  Wingo." 

"  I  thought  that  li'l  account  was  closed,"  said  the 
district  attorney,  with  the  shadow  of  a  sneer  that 
Murray  did  not  catch. 

"  It  won't  be  closed  till  Bill  Wingo  is  pushin'  up  the 
grass,"  averred  Jack  Murray.  "  This  territory  ain't 
big  enough  for  the  two  of  us." 

"  If  you  had  any  sense  it  would  be." 

"Meanin'?" 

"  Meaning  that  Bill  Wingo  is  a  pretty  cold  proposi- 
tion for  you  to  handle." 

"  I'm  better  than  he  ever  thought  of  being,  and 
don't  you  let  anybody  tell  you  different.  I'll  get  that 

if  I  have  to  follow  him  to  hell !  Damn  his 

soul !  If  it  wasn't  for  him,  I  wouldn't  be  where  I  am 
now !  If  it  wasn't  for  him,  I'd  be  sheriff  of  this  county ! 
If  it  wasn't  for  him  —  Oh,  I  got  a-plenty  reasons  for 
putting  that  Wingo  where  he  belongs." 

"  Sally  Jane,  huh?"  the  district  attorney  supplied 
with  malice. 

"  I  didn't  say  anything  about  Sally  Jane." 

"  I  know  you  didn't.  But  I  got  eyes,  man.  I'll  bet 
you  like  her  still." 

"  Don't  you  lose  any  sleep  over  who  I  like." 


370        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  I  ain't.  I  only  thought  you  might  be  interested  in 
knowin'  that  she  and  Bill  are  thick  again,  like  they  used 
to  be.  Thicker,  you  might  say." 

Jack  Murray's  thin  lips  became  thinner.  "  Skinny 
Shindle  told  me  somethin'  about  him  switching  to 
Hazel  Walton." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  blattered  the  district  at- 
torney, continuing  to  rapidly  pump  the  bellows  on  the 
fire  of  Jack  Murray's  hatred.  "  Hazel  Walton  was 
only  a  passing  fancy.  Sally  Jane  is  the  girl  for  him, 
you  can  gamble  on  it.  Tough  luck,  Jack.  I'll  bet 
you'd  have  stood  better  than  a  fighting  chance  with  her 
if  she  hadn't  listened  to  his  lies." 

"  He'll  never  have  her!"  snarled  Jack  Murray, 
wagging  a  vicious  head.  "  By  Gawd,  he  won't !  " 

"I  guess  she  thinks  he  will  —  when  this  muss  is 
cleared  up,"  said  the  district  attorney,  with  admirably 
simulated  carelessness*  "  Hazel  —  I  mean  Sally 
Jane » 

"  Yeah,  Hazel !  I'd  say  Hazel,  I  would.  I  should 
think  her  name  would  stick  in  your  craw!  " 

"  Well,  never  mind  about  that.  I  fixed  it  once  to 
turn  her  loose,  but  here  this  Jonesy  comes  squallin'  for 
her  scalp  to-night,  and  I  had  to  promise  to  have  her 
arrested  to-morrow.  What  else  could  I  do?  " 

"  Just  as  if  you  wanted  it  any  other  way !  Why,  I'll 
bet  you  even  fixed  it  with  Jonesy  to  raise  a  roar  so  that 
you'd  get  this  second  chance  at  her.  What  did  that  li'l 
girl  ever  do  to  you?  Not  that  I  give  a  damn  —  just 
between  friends." 

u  She  cost  me  some  money,  if  you  want  to  know," 
snarled  the  district  attorney,  who  saw  red  every  time  he 


The  Fool-killer  371 

thought  of  the  two  thousand  dollars  he  had  been  taxed 
by  Billy  Wingo  for  Hazel's  benefit.  "  And  anybody 
that  costs  me  money  will  pay  for  what  they  get.  Look 
here,"  he  added  with  an  abrupt  change  of  subject, 
"  how  did  you  find  out  Bill  was  still  in  this  county?  " 

Jack  Murray  gripped  the  district  attorney's  wrist. 
"  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

Rale  shook  off  the  restraining  hand.  "  I  don't  know 
exactly  where  he  is,"  he  said  coldly,  "  but  I'm  reason- 
ably sure  he's  round  here  somewhere.  Good  Gawd, 
man,  don't  you  suppose  if  I  knew  where  he  was,  I'd 
have  him  dumped  so  quick  his  hair  would  curl?  " 

Jack  Murray  nodded.  "  He's  round  here  all  right, 
unless  he's  gone  north  beyond  the  West  Fork.  I  cut 
his  trail  at  Dorothy." 

"  Was  he  there?" 

"  Considerable.  Yeah,  him  and  another  feller  were 
there.  Between  'em  they  caught  Slike." 

"  Were  you  with  Slike?" 

"  Not  at  the  time  he  was  caught,  I  wasn't.  But  a 
while  before  that  I  met  him  in  Shadyside  and  I  told 
him  what  Skinny  Shindle  wrote  about  the  Horseshoe 
outfit  needin'  gunfighters.  Slike,  he  didn't  want  to 
leave  the  country  yet,  anyway,  and  we  decided  to  throw 
in  with  the  Horseshoe  a  spell." 

"  But  how  did  Bill " 

"  Trailed  us,  I  suppose.  First  thing  I  knew,  here 
we  found  Skinny  dead  as  Julius  Caesar  alongside  Fen- 
ley's  Creek,  and  Slike  he'd  disappeared  complete. 
There'd  been  a  brush,  and  Shindle  and  a  T  U  puncher 
had  cashed." 

"  And  where  were  you  during  the  —  brush?  ': 


372        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  range  with  a  couple 
of  the  Horseshoe  bunch  payin'  a  visit  to  a  nester.  If 
Fd  been  with  Slike  and  Skinny,  the  deal  would  have 
turned  out  different,  and  you  can  stick  a  pin  in  that." 

"  Yes,  you'd  have  been  downed  or  dumped  too." 

"  Meanin'  you  wished  I  had  been." 

"  I  didn't  say  so,"  the  district  attorney  hastened  to 
assure  him. 

"  You  dont  always  have  to  say  so,"  said  Jack  Mur- 
ray, with  heavy  suspicion.  u  I'm  reading  you  like  a 
page  of  big  print,  you  lizard!  " 

The  district  attorney  forced  a  laugh.  "  You're  too 
clever  for  me,  Jack.  Look  here,  what  makes  you  think 
it  was  Bill  Wingo  caught  Slike?  " 

"  Because  no  posses  from  here  went  south  so  far, 
and  because  if  anybody  else  but  Bill  had  caught  him, 
he'd  either  have  been  killed  outright  or  brought  into 
Dorothy  or  Marquis,  and  there'd  have  been  a  big  time. 
Instead  of  that,  there  wasn't  a  peep.  So  it  must  have 
been  Bill,  see?" 

"  I  see.     And  you're  going  to  get  this  Bill?  " 

"  You've  got  the  idea," 

"  And  you  trailed  him  here  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  have  to.  I  knew  he'd  bring  Slike  to 
Golden  Bar,  so  I  came  along  the  shortest  way.  It'll 
be  quite  a  joke  on  you,  this  Slike  business.  Will  he 
snitch,  do  you  think?  " 

"  He'd  better  not." 

*  You  frown  at  him  thataway,  and  you'll  scare  him 
to  death,  Art.  He's  one  timid  fawn,  that  Slike  person." 

"  He'll  be " 

"  Never  mind  what  he'll  be,  Art.     That's  his  busi- 


The  Fool-killer  373 

ness,  and  yours.  I  didn't  come  here  to  help  Slike.  I 
came  here  to  get  Bill  and  help  yours  truly.  I  want 
some  money." 

u  I  told  you  I  haven't  any." 

"  But  you  can  get  it." 

"  I  told  you  folks  want  security." 
4  That  will  do  to  tell  somebody  else  besides  me. 
I've  got  my  growth  and  cut  most  all  my  teeth  a  long 
time  since.     You'll  have  to  raise  some  money  —  say 
about  fifteen  hundred." 

'  You  might  as  well  make  it  fifteen  thousand." 

"  Maybe  I  will.  Thousand  sounds  kind  of  good. 
Say  about  three  of  'em.  Three  thousand  dollars,  Art, 
and  I'll  let  you  alone  a  while." 

"  But  I  tell  you '  ' 

"  And  I  tell  you  that  if  you  don't,  that  same  identical 
note  with  a  written  account  of  what  I  know  goes  to 
Judge  Donelson." 

"  You  wouldn't  dare." 

"  Think  I  wouldn't?  You  don't  know  me,  feller. 
When  it  comes  to  money,  I'm  the  most  daring  cuss  you 
ever  saw.  That's  me,  Jack  Murray.  Three  thousand 
dollars,  Artie,  or  you'll  wish  you'd  never  been  born." 

"  I  can't  raise  it,"  the  district  attorney  insisted  des- 
pairingly. 

"  I  kind  of  thought  you'd  stick  to  that  poverty 
squeal,"  smiled  Jack  Murray,  fishing  a  folded  paper 
from  a  shirt  pocket.  "  So  I  took  care  before  I  came 
here  to  write  down  what  I  know  about  this  li'l  deal. 
I  thought  you  might  like  to  see  how  interestin'  it  all 
looks  on  paper.  Hang  your  eyes  over  it,  feller.  Never 
mind  snatchin'  at  it!  I'll  hold  it  for  you  to  read. 


374         The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

See,  there's  my  name  signed  to  it  all  complete.  How 
do  you  like  it,  huh?  Gives  you  a  thrill,  don't  it?  I'll 
bet  it  will  give  Judge  Donelson  two  thrills.  And  as 
an  evidence  of  good  faith,  to  show  you  I  still  got  it 
safe,  here's  your  note  for  that  five  thousand.  It  will 
go  with  the  letter  to  the  judge  —  unless  you  listen  to 
reason  and  raise  the  three  thousand —  What's  that?  " 

u  That  "  was  a  rapping  on  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Go  in  the  bedroom,"  whispered  the  district  at- 
torney with  a  very  pale  face.  "  You  can  slide  out  one 
of  the  windows,  if  I  have  to  let  him  in." 

"  I'll  go  in  the  bedroom,"  Jack  Murray  whispered 
back,  with  a  chilling  smile,  "  but  I  ain't  sliding  out  of 
any  windows  —  not  until  you  and  I  have  come  to  an 
agreement  about  that  money.  I'll  stick  right  there  in 
the  bedroom,  Mister  Man,  right  there  where  I  can 
keep  an  eye  on  you.  Now  go  see  what's  wanted." 

4  You  don't  think  I've  stacked  the  cards  on  you,  do 
you?  "  grunted  the  district  attorney. 

"  I  don't,"  replied  Jack  Murray.  "  Not  while  I've 
got  that  note  and  the  Donelson  letter  in  my  pocket, 
you  bet  I  don't.  I  ain't  worryin'  a  mite,  not  me.  Run 
along  now,  there's  a  good  boy.  Papa  will  be  right  in 
the  next  room." 

Thus  adjured,  the  district  attorney  ran  along.  Yet 
not  without  heart-thumping  misgivings.  For  his  was 
a  fearful  soul  that  night.  A  great  deal  had  happened 
to  upset  him. 

On  his  demand  that  the  late  caller  declare  himself, 
a  voice  whispered,  "  It's  me,  Guerilla  Melody.  Let 
me  in  quick." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see  me  about?  " 


The  Fool-killer  375 

"  I  got  a  bargain  to  make  with  you  —  a  bargain 
about  Bill  Wingo." 

"  Did  Bill  Wingo  send  you?  " 

"  You  can  take  it  that  he  did." 

After  all,  why  not?  What  danger  was  there  in 
listening  to  the  details  of  Guerilla's  bargain?  Per- 
haps he  would  learn  something.  Quite  so.  The  dis- 
trict attorney  unlocked  the  kitchen  door  and  opened  it. 

A  tall  man  pushed  in  at  once.  The  tall  man  had 
a  sardonic  gleam  in  his  gray  eyes,  a  ragged  brown 
beard,  and  a  derringer.  The  twin-barreled  firearm 
was  pointing  directly  at  the  stomach  of  the  district 
attorney.  The  district  attorney's  gun  arm  hung  up 
and  down.  The  tall,  brown-bearded  man  shot  out  a 
quick  left  hand  and  deftly  twitched  away  the  district 
attorney's  weapon. 

"  You  won't  need  that,"  he  remarked  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  tucking  the  six-shooter  into  his  waistband. 
"  Have  you  any  other  weapon  on  your  person?  Hold 
still  while  I  look.  No,  I  guess  you  haven't.  We  will 
now  go  into  your  office,  Arthur.  I  have  a  li'l  some- 
thing for  your  private  ear.  I  guess  I'll  lock  the  kitchen 
door,  so  we  won't  run  any  risk  of  being  disturbed." 

So  saying  he  reached  behind  him,  slammed  the  door 
shut,  shook  it,  and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  The  key 
he  dropped  into  a  trouser's  pocket. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for?  "  he  demanded,  still  in 
that  hoarse  whisper. 

The  district  attorney  found  his  tongue  —  and  stood 
his  ground.  "  Where's  Guerilla  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  He  left  when  you  decided  to  let 
him  in.  You  see,  I  thought  you'd  be  more  likely  to 


376        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

open  up  if  it  was  some  one  you  knew,  so  I  got  Guerilla 
to  do  the  honors.  Just  a  li'l  trick,  Arthur,  just  a  li'l 
trick.  You're  such  a  shy  bird.  No  hard  feelings,  I 
hope.  No?  Yes?  Well?" 

"Whonell  are  you  ?" 

"  Me  ?  Oh,  I'm  the  Fool-Killer.  Let  us  walk  into 
your  office  says  the  fly  to  the  spider,  you  being  the 
spider,  of  course.  And  if  the  fly  has  to  say  it  again, 
the  spider  will  have  something  to  think  about  besides 
the  pitfalls  of  this  wicked  world.  Thank  you.  I 
thought  you  would.  And  bear  in  mind  that  any  wild 
snatches  toward  table  drawers  and  so  forth  will  be 
treated  as  hostile  acts." 

The  district  attorney  continued  to  lead  the  way  into 
the  office.  He  started  to  sit  down  in  his  accustomed 
chair  behind  the  table. 

u  Not  there  —  there,"  said  the  brown-bearded  man, 
indicating  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  table.  "  I'd 
rather  sit  on  the  drawer  side  myself.  Not  that  I 
expect  you  to  gamble  with  me,  Arthur.  But  in  my 
business  we  can't  afford  to  take  chances.  Are  you 
ready.  Gentlemen,  be  seated." 

He  uttered  the  last  three  words  in  his  natural  voice. 
The  district  attorney  failed  to  suppress  a  bleak  smile. 

*  There's  my  old  Arthur,"  approved  Billy  Wingo. 
"  I  knew  he'd  be  glad  to  see  me,  give  him  time." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  declared  the  district  attorney  in  a 
loud  voice.  "  I'm  always  glad  to  see  Bill  Wingo. 
Bill  Wingo,  you  bet." 

Billy  Wingo's  gray  eyes  narrowed.  "  Not  quite  so 
loud,"  he  reproved  the  district  attorney.  "  No  need 
to  disturb  the  neighbors." 


The  Fool-killer  377 

"  Why,  no,  of  course  not."  The  grimy  soul  of  the 
district  attorney  capered  with  joy.  What  luck  I  Here 
was  his  enemy,  and  there  was  his  enemy's  enemy  in  the 
very  next  room.  It  would  make  a  cat  laugh.  It  would 
indeed. 

"  Arthur,"  said  Billy,  "  I've  been  hearing  bad  reports 
of  you.  I  understand  you've  decided  to  have  Miss 
Walton  arrested.  Is  that  correct?  " 

"  Correct,  sure.  Sorry,  but  the  law's  the  law,  you 
know." 

"  You  remember  what  I  said  I'd  do  to  you." 

The  district  attorney  dismissed  this  with  a  simple 
wave  of  the  hand.  "  Oh,  that.  A  mere  bluff." 

"  It  may  not  be  quite  as  mere  as  you  seem  to  think. 
Let  me  argue  with  you,  Arthur.  Suppose  I  can  prove 
that  Dan  Slike  was  at  Miss  Walton's  the  night  Rafe 
Tuckleton  was  murdered.  Would  that  help  any?  " 

"  You  can't  prove  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can.  When  he  was  there,  he  stole  her 
hat,  besides  some  other  stuff,  and  inside  the  sweatband 
of  the  hat  he  stuffed  the  folded  upper  half  of  the  front 
page  of  the  Omaha  Bee.  The  other  half  of  the  news- 
paper was  found  at  the  Walton  ranch  house  by  Shot- 
gun Shillman.  He  has  it  now,  and  when  Slike  was 
caught,  he  was  wearing  Miss  Walton's  hat,  and  inside 
the  sweatband  was  this  particular  folded  upper  half- 
page  I'm  telling  you  about.  This  evidence  is  in  the 
possession  of  Guerilla  Melody  right  now.  When  this 
comes  out  at  the  trial,  why  wouldn't  that  show  that 
Slike  was  in  the  vicinity  when  Tuckleton  was  killed? 
And  being  in  the  vicinity,  why " 


378        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Impossible !  "  snapped  the  district  attorney.  "  I 
don't-  see  how  it  could  be  hung  on  him." 

"  Won't  you  even  have  his  presence  there  investigat- 
ed? "  Why,  BUI  was  actually  pleading.  The  district 
attorney  swelled  his  chest  like  a  turkey  cock.  He 
would  show  Bill  that  he  couldn't  be  bluffed.  Not  he. 

"  No,  I  won't  have  his  presence  at  the  Walton  ranch 
investigated.  In  the  first  place " 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Billy,  "  I  know  he  didn't 
kill  Tuckleton." 

"  Then  why  are  you  trying  to  prove  he  did?  " 

4  Just  to  see  what  you'd  say.  Just  to  see  how  dead 
set  against  investigating  Slike  you  are.  Just  to  double- 
cinch  the  proof  against  the  real  criminal.  You  know 
that  Dan  Slike  didn't  kill  Tuckleton,  but  that  isn't  why 
you  don't  dare  read  his  trail  too  much.  One  reason  is 
that  if  you  do,  he'll  be  sure  to  blat  right  out  how  you 
and  Felix  and  Sam  Larder  helped  him  to  escape  from 
the  calaboose.  Don't  blush,  Arthur.  I  know  how 
modest  you  are.  So  we'll  take  it  I'm  right." 

"  Oh,  you're  welcome  to  what  you  think,"  said  the 
district  attorney.  "  But  just  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
how  do  you  know  that  Slike  didn't  kill  Tuckleton?  " 

"  Because  the  initialed  butcher  knife  Slike  took  with 
him  from  Miss  Walton's  was  still  on  him  when  he  was 
caught." 

'  There  must  have  been  two  knives !  " 

'  There  were  two  knives,  but  only  one  belonged  to 
Miss  Walton.  Rale,  when  you  and  Felix  and  Larder 
caught  Red  Herring  in  the  draw  a  few  minutes  before 
you  found  the  dead  body  of  Tuckleton,  why  didn't  you 
ask  more  questions  about  Red  being  there  so  handy?  " 


The  Fool-killer  379 

"  Because  Red  couldn't  have  had  anything  to  do  with 


it11 


u  I  know  he  couldn't,  but  you  weren't  supposed  to 
know  he  couldn't.  You  were  supposed  to  ask  questions 
about  any  suspicious  circumstances,  and  did  you?  Not 
a  question  did  you  ask  in  town  as  to  Red's  movements 
that  evening.  You  simply  took  his  word  for  it,  which 
wasn't  natural  —  except  under  a  certain  condition.  A 
certain  condition,  you  understand,  and  it  never  occurred 
to  me  until  I  found  that  second  knife.  It  would  have 
saved  a  lot  of  trouble  if  I  had  thought  of  it  sooner. 
Rale,  you  didn't  ask  any  questions  either  about  Red 
being  in  the  draw  or  Slike  being  at  the  Walton  ranch 
house,  and  you  gave  out  that  Miss  Walton  herself 
had  killed  Tuckleton  because  you  had  planned  ahead 
that  she  was  the  one  you  were  going  to  hang  the  murder 
on.  And  why  did  you  have  it  planned  ahead?  And 
how  did  you  know  it  all  so  certain  sure?  How,  damn 
you,  how?  Because  you  killed  Tuckleton  yourself  I  " 

The  district  attorney  sat  perfectly  still.  His  eyes 
stole  toward  the  bedroom  door.  What  on  earth  was 
the  matter  with  Jack  Murray?  Why  didn't  he  shoot? 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  killed  him,"  went  on  the 
inexorable  voice,  "  but  you  did.  I've  found  out  that 
early  last  spring  you  went  to  Nate  Samson  and  borrow- 
ed his  hardware  catalogue,  Nate  being  the  only  store- 
keeper here  handling  hardware.  Yes,  Nate.  I  knew 
you  must  have  gone  to  Nate,  because  you  weren't  out 
of  town  all  winter,  that's  how.  Nate  said  that  you 
were  the  only  customer  to  borrow  the  catalogue.  He 
said  too  that  you  told  him  when  you  returned  it  that 
you  hadn't  found  what  you  wanted.  I  sent  a  telegram 


380        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

to  the  supply  house  getting  out  this  catalogue,  and  their 
answer  stated  that  you  had  ordered  from  them  back  in 
February,  a  butcher  knife,  paying  for  it  in  stamps. 
They  gave  the  catalogue  number  of  this  butcher  knife, 
and  the  catalogue  number  is  the  same  number  as  that 
of  the  butcher  knife  with  which  Tuckleton  was  killed. 
You  cut  T  W  on  the  handle  of  this  knife,  rusted  it  a 
little  and  ground  it  some,  and  then  you  —  well,  after 
you  did  for  Rafe  there  in  the  draw  near  her  house,  you 
rode  back  to  Golden  Bar,  gassed  a  while  with  Felix  and 
Sam,  and  then  you  were  in  such  a  sweat  to  get  the  thing 
settled  you  couldn't  even  wait  till  next  day.  You  had 
to  ride  out  to  question  Miss  Walton  that  same  night. 
Another  unnecessary  circumstance.  Rale,  you  rat, 
IVe  got  you  right  where  you  can't  even  wriggle. " 

Billy  leaned  across  the  table  to  emphasize  what  he 
was  saying,  heard  a  slight  sound  in  the  bedroom  and 
promptly  blew  out  the  lamp.  With  a  heave  of  one 
arm  he  slammed  the  table  over  on  the  district  attorney. 
The  latter,  taking  the  table  to  his  bosom,  went  over 
backward,  together  with  the  chair  he  sat  in,  and 
wallowed  on  the  floor. 

Bang!  a  six-shooter  crashed  in  the  bedroom.  A 
streak  of  yellow  flame  cut  the  darkness.  A  bullet 
snicked  into  the  floor  a  yard  from  where  Billy  crouched. 
He  emptied  his  derringer  at  the  flash  and  changed 
position  hurriedly.  As  he  pulled  his  six-shooter,  there 
was  another  shot  from  the  bedroom,  a  shot  that  wrung 
an  apprehensive  yelp  from  the  district  attorney. 

44  Don't  shoot  so  far  to  the  right !  Y'almost  hit  me  ! 
He's  over  to  the  left  more.  About  where  the  red 
chair  stands." 


The  Fool-killer  381 

This  would  never  do.  Never.  First  thing  Billy 
knew,  he  would  be  shot.  He  stretched  forth  a  hand, 
and  breathed  an  inward  curse.  There  was  certainly  a 
chair  not  a  foot  from  his  face.  Taking  care  not  to 
make  a  sound  he  lifted  the  chair  by  one  leg  and  lobbed 
it  through  the  air  in  the  general  direction  of  the  dis- 
trict attorney.  The  results  were  immediate.  The 
chair  arrived,  the  district  attorney  squawked,  and  the 
man  in  the  bedroom  fired  again,  not  according  to  the 
orders  of  the  district  attorney,  but  toward  the  spot 
where  the  chair  had  fallen.  Billy  pulled  trigger  at  the 
flash  of  the  other's  gun.  Then  he  began  to  crawl 
toward  the  bedroom  door.  He  was  a  thorough  believer 
in  the  doctrine  of  "  getting  in  where  it's  warm."  He 
succeeded  beyond  his  expectations.  The  occupant  of 
the  bedroom,  who  had  remove4  his  boots,  tiptoed 
around  the  door  jamb  and  stepped  on  Billy's  hand. 

Both  guns  exploded  simultaneously.  What  happen- 
ed next  has  never  been  clear  in  Billy's  mind.  He  only 
knows  that  his  head  rang  like  a  struck  bell  at  the  shot, 
and  burning  powder  grains  stung  his  ear  and  neck.  He 
fired  blind.  A  voice  above  his  head  cried  aloud  on 
the  name  of  God,  a  hot  and  sweaty  body  collasped  upon 
him,  and  he  dragged  himself  out  from  under  precisely 
in  time  to  glimpse  the  district  attorney  who,  having 
torn  open  the  door  into  the  hall,  was  silhouetted  for  an 
instant  against  the  dim  radiance  emanating  from  the 
kitchen. 

Billy  hunched  his  right  shoulder,  took  a  snapshot, 
and  drove  an  accurate  bullet  through  the  right  leg  of 
the  district  attorney. 


382        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

u  He's  comin'  around,"  said  Shotgun  Shillman. 
"  You  shot  too  high,  Bill.  Y'ought  to  held  lower,  and 
you'd  drilled  his  heart  or  anyway,  a  lung.  Now  he'll 
be  a  invalid  nuisance  for  a  while,  like  Rale." 

"  If  I'd  known  you'd  be  so  upset  about  it,  I'd  obliged 
you,  Shotgun,"  returned  Billy  sarcastically.  "  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  wanted  both  of  'em  alive.  You  can't 
try  dead  men. 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Shotgun.  "  But  what  a  waste 
of  time,  when  —  Oh,  all  right,  all  right,  Bill.  Have 
it  your  own  way.  You're  the  dog  with  the  brass  collar, 
even  if  you  do  have  to  sleep  in  the  jail  till  the  warrants 
against  you  are  annulled." 

"  What's  Jack  trying  to  do?  "  Riley  Tyler  asked. 
"  Here,  take  that  out  of  your  mouth!  " 

It  was  Billy  who  reached  Jack  Murray  first.  He 
snatched  the  wadded  ball  of  paper  from  Jack  before 
he  could  close  his  teeth  over  it.  Jack  groaned. 

u  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,"  apologized  Billy. 
"  But  I  had  to  grab  your  jaw.  You  were  so  quick." 

u  You  didn't"  hurt  me,"  snarled  Jack  Murray.  "  It 
was  somethin'  else." 

"  What  is  the  thing?  "  queried  Guerilla  Melody. 

Billy  smoothed  out  the  crumpled  wad.  It  appeared 
to  be  a  letter  and  a  promissory  note. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  read  that !  "  cried  the  district  at- 
torney, attempting  to  drag  himself  across  the  floor 
toward  Billy.  u  That  letter  is  personal  and  my  private 
property!  " 

1  You  lie  quiet,"  directed  Riley  Tyler.  "  If  you  go 
busting  those  bandages  open,  I'll  bust  you.  Lie  back, 
lie  down,  and  take  it  easy.  There's  nothing  for  you  to 


The  Fool-killer  383 

get  excited  over.  Everything's  all  right.  Yeah. 
That's  the  boy.  Do  as  Uncle  says." 

"  What's  the  writing,  Bill?"  inquired  Shotgun. 
"  Read  her  off." 

Billy  read: 

JUDGE  HIRAM  DONELSON, 

Hillsville. 

DEAR  SIR: — The  man  who  killed  Rafe  Tuckleton  is  the 
county  prosecutor  Arthur  Rale.  Rale  owed  Tuckleton  five 
thousand  dollars  on  a  note  and  couldn't  pay  it.  Rafe  wanted 
his  money.  Early  in  the  evening  on  the  day  he  was  killed, 
Tuckleton  came  to  Rale's  house  where  I  was  at  the  time,  and 
demanded  payment.  He  brought  the  note  with  him.  Rale 
refused  and  they  quarreled.  Tuckleton  had  been  drinking. 
Before  Tuckleton  left,  he  said  he  was  going  to  the  Walton 
ranch.  After  he  left,  Rale  told  me  he  had  planned  some  time 
ago  to  kill  Tuckleton  and  get  the  note  back  at  the  first  op- 
portunity. This  looked  like  a  good  opportunity.  Rale  showed 
me  a  butcher  knife.  He  said  it  was  just  like  one  at  the  Walton 
ranch.  He  had  cut  Tom  Walton's  initials  on  the  handle  so  it 
would  be  like  it.  Rale  said  he  had  tried  to  get  the  original 
knife,  but  had  not  been  able  to.  This  one  he  had  fixed  up  had 
to  do.  He  said  when  his  knife  was  found  on  Rafe's  body,  every- 
body would  think  Hazel  Walton  had  killed  him,  and  nobody 
would  believe  her  if  she  said  the  knife  wasn't  hers.  He  had 
it  in  for  Hazel  anyway,  he  said,  and  by  rubbing  out  Rafe  and 
laying  the  blame  on  her,  he'd  win  two  bets  at  one  throw. 
Suppose  they  found  the  regular  Walton  knife,  I  said.  Rale 
said  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference.  Anybody  might  know 
she  could  easy  have  two  knives.  Well,  he  offered  me  two 
hundred  dollars  cash  to  kill  Rafe  with  this  knife.  I  wouldn't 
do  it,  so  he  had  a  couple  of  drinks  and  said  he'd  kill  Rafe 
himself.  He  asked  me  to  go  with  him.  I  went,  and  we  hung 
around  Walton's  till  Tuckleton  came  out,  and  then  we  fol- 
lowed him,  and  Rale  stopped  him  down  the  draw  and  said, 
I've  got  the  money  for  you,  Rafe.  And  Tuckleton  got  off 
his  horse  and  then  Rale  stepped  up  close  to  him  and  let  him 
have  it.  He  stuck  the  knife  in  him  a  couple  of  times  after 
Tuckleton  was  down  and  wriggling  round.  When  Tuckleton 


384        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

was  dead,  Rale  took  the  note  out  of  Tuckleton's  pocketbook, 
and  I  held  Rale  up  and  took  the  note  away  from  him.  I 
thought  maybe  I  might  want  to  show  him  up  some  day,  or  sell 
it  to  him  or  something,  when  he  got  hold  of  some  money.  I 
was  going  to  make  him  pay  for  it,  one  way  or  another. 

Here  is  the  note  he  took  off  Tuckleton. 

The  district  attorney  will  tell  you  who  I  am  if  I  don't,  so 
I  haven't  any  objections  to  signing  my  name.  I'll  be  in  Old 
Mexico  by  the  time  you  read  this,  anyway.  So  long,  and  give 
Rale  what  he  deserves. 

Yours  truly, 

(Signed)  JACK  MURRAY. 

Billy  handed  the  letter  and  the  Rale  note  to  Shotgun 
Shillman,  who  folded  both  carefully  and  slipped  them 
into  an  inner  pocket  of  his  vest.  "  And  did  you  hear 
Rale  say  these  were  his  private  property?  " 

Shotgun  Shillman  nodded  happily.  "  Even  without 
'em,  there  is  enough  evidence  to  hang  him.  But  there's 
nothing  like  swinging  a  wide  loop  if  you  want  to  rope 
two  at  a  clatter." 

Billy's  eyes  followed  Shotgun's  side  glance  at  Jack 
Murray.  "  You  needn't  look  at  me  thataway,"  snarled 
Jack.  "  I'm  no  snitch!  I  only  wrote  that  letter  to 
throw  a  scare  into  Rale.  I'd  never  have  sent  it  to  the 
judge  a-tall !  " 

"  Maybe  you're  no  snitch,"  Billy  flung  back,  with 
deep  disfavor,  "  even  if  it  does  look  like  it,  but  you 
were  skunk  enough  to  let  an  innocent  girl  be  blamed 
for  murder." 

"  That  was  different.  She  hadn't  ought  to  horned 
in  on  what  was  none  of  her  business.  If  she  hadn't  — 
Oh,  hell,  what's  the  use?  Gimme  a  chew,  somebody." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN 

THE  LONG  DAY  CLOSES 

"  WELL,"  observed  Sam  Prescott,  "  folks  will  be 
sending  Bill  to  Congress  next.  Directly  or  indirectly, 
he  sure  has  put  a  crimp  in  county  politics." 

"  Yes,"  assented  his  daughter,  "  now  that  the  grand 
jury  have  indicted  Craft,  Larder,  Murray  and  Rale, 
there  isn't  anything  left  of  the  Crocker  County  ring 
but  the  hole." 

"  Maybe  now  Hazel  will  make  it  up  with  him." 

"  Maybe."     With  some  indifference. 

"  Shucks,  and  he  used  to  like  you,  Sally  Jane." 

"  But  I  never  liked  him  —  enough."  This  with 
more  indifference. 

"  More  fool  you.  Bill's  going  to  get  there,  and  you 
can  stick  a  pin  in  that." 

She  bounced  up  from  her  chair  and  ruffled  her 
father's  grizzled  hair.  "  I'd  rather  stick  a  pin  in  you, 
Samuel.  Where  did  Hazel  go?  " 

"  Room,  I  guess.  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  the 
child.  She  didn't  eat  enough  breakfast  for  a  fly." 

"  She  has  been  acting  pretty  meaching  the  last  few 
days.  I'll  go  see  what's  the  matter." 

Sally  Jane  found  Hazel  folding  up  her  clothes  as  fast 
as  she  could  fold.  The  bureau  drawers  were  empty. 
Everything  was  on  the  bed. 


386        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  What  on  earth  —  "  began  Sally  Jane. 

"  I'm  going  home,"  said  Hazel,  keeping  her  face 
turned  away. 

The  direct  Sally  Jane  cupped  a  hand  under  Hazel's 
chin.  "  Let  me  see  something.  I  thought  so.  What's 
the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,"  declared  Hazel,  beginning  to  sniff  a 
little. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  tell  him  so?  " 

"Him?     Him?" 

"  Yes,  him.  Bill.  Mr.  William  H.  Wingo.  The 
sheriff  of  Crocker  County.  That's  what  I'd  do  if  / 
loved  him." 

"  I  don't  love  him,"  snapped  Hazel,  the  shine  in  her 
black  eyes  giving  the  lie  to  her  words. 

"  You  blessed  child,"  said  Sally  Jane,  and  threw  her 
arms  around  Hazel  and  drew  her  to  her  breast.  "  You 
blessed  child.  I  don't  know  what  ever  came  between 
you  and  Bill,  but  something  did,  and  if  you've  got  an 
atom  of  sense  in  your  head,  you'll  move  heaven  and 
earth  to  make  it  up  with  him." 

"  He  doesn't  love  me  any  more,"  declared  Hazel, 
her  emotion  getting  the  better  of  her. 

"  Do  you  love  him?  "  probed  the  older  girls. 

A  pronounced  sniffle. 

"Do  you?" 

"  I  always  have,"  came  the  dragging  confession. 

'  Then,  for  heaven's  sake,  tell  him  so !     I'll  bet  he 

loves  you  fast  enough !    Land  alive,  if  you've  got  Love 

in  your  grasp,  don't  turn  it  down !    Love  is  the  greatest 

thing  in  the  world,  and  if  you  throw  it  away,  you'll 


The  Long  Day  Closes  387 

never  have  any  luck  the  rest  of  your  life.  And  you 
won't  deserve  any  either." 

Hazel  drew  out  a  damp  ball  of  a  handkerchief  and 
blew  her  nose  vigorously.  "  It's  no  use,"  she  told  her 
friend  with  a  catch  in  her  voice.  "  I  couldn't  tell  him. 
I  just  couldn't." 

Sally  Jane  flung  up  her  hands.  "  You're  a  coward, 
that's  what  you  are.  A  moral  coward.  If  I  loved  a 
man,  which  I  don't,  I'd  tell  him  so,  that  is,  providing 
he  didn't  tell  me  first,"  she  added  thoughtfully. 

Hazel  stooped  to  pick  up  a  fallen  chemise.  "  You're 
— you're  different,  Sally  Jane.  Besides,  he  doesn't 
love  me  any  more.  So  it  wouldn't  do  any  good." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not,"  Sally  Jane  waxed  sar- 
castic. "  And  they  say  all  mules  are  quadrupeds ! 
Look  here,  Hazel,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  you'd  be 
in  a  fine  fix  right  now.  Why,  that  Rale  man —  Oh, 
you  make  me  so  mad  I  could  shake  you !  I've  told  you 
more'n  once  how  much  you  owe  Bill.  Look  how  he 
fought  for  you.  Look —  Oh,  Lord  I  Haven't  you 
got  any  gratitude  at  all?  " 

"  Plenty,"  Hazel  replied  over  her  shoulder.  "  But 
my  gratitude  can't  make  him  love  me." 

Sally  Jane  put  her  hand  on  her  friend's  shoulders 
and  turned  her  around.  "  I  tell  you,  you're  making  a 
mistake.  I  tell  you  he  does  love  you.  You  remember 
that  last  winter  he  came  here  several  times,  and  he 
certainly  didn't  come  to  see  me  or  Dad.  And  you 
weren't  overly  cordial,  you  know,  Hazel.  You  didn't 
fall  on  his  neck  exactly." 

"  I'm  not  going  to  throw  myself  at  any  man's 
head!" 


388        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

"  Oh,  don't  be  so  high-strung!  You're  too  proud 
for  any  human  use !  And  Bill's  just  like  you,  the  stiff- 
necked  lollop !  " 

u  He  is  not !  "  Hazel  cried,  with  a  decided  flash  of 
temper.  "  He's  not  stiff-necked!  He's  not  a  lollop! 
Oh,  Sally  dear,  don't  spoil  everything,"  she  begged. 
"  You've  been  so  good  to  me." 

Sally  Jane  immediately  changed  her  tune.  "  But 
why  leave  here?  Why  go  home?  " 

u  Because  I've  imposed  on  you  long  enough.  I'll  be 
safe  there  —  now." 

Sally  Jane  looked  long  into  the  eyes  of  Hazel  Wal- 
ton. "  All  right,"  she  said  shortly.  "  I'll  drive  you 
over  myself." 

Billy  Wingo  stretched  out  his  long  legs  and  absent- 
mindedly  hacked  the  edge  of  his  desk  with  a  pocket 
knife.  u  I  told  her  she'd  have  to  come  to  me  and  put 
her  arms  around  my  neck  and  tell  me  I  was  right  and 
she  was  wrong,  and  now  I've  got  to  stick  to  it,  damitall ! 
Bill,  you  idiot,  you  always  did  let  your  tongue  run  away 
with  you.  Always.  And  now  she  won't  make  it  up. 
Three  days  now,  since  I  got  my  job  back,  and  not  a 
word.  Not  a  word.  Well,  one  thing  is  certain  sure, 
I  ain't  going  to  run  after  her.  I  ain't,  not  by  a  jugful." 

14  His  lips  are  moving,  but  he  ain't  sayin'  anything," 
announced  Riley  Tyler  in  a  loud,  cheerful  tone.  "  Do 
you  think  he's  going  crazy,  Shotgun,  or  is  it  only  the 
beginnings  of  droolin'  old  age?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Shotgun.  "  Better  watch  him.  If 
he  begins  to  gibber  and  pull  out  his  hair,  he's  looney 


The  Long  Day  Closes  389 

and  we'll  have  to  tie  him  down,  I  expect.  Is  your  rope 
strong,  Riley?  " 

"  You  fellers,"  Billy  remarked  with  dignity,  "  make 
me  more  tired  than  a  week's  work." 

So  saying,  he  arose  and  we.it  to  the  corner  where  his 
saddle  and  bridle  lay.  Three  minutes  later  he  rode 
out  of  Golden  Bar. 

"  He's  taken  the  Hillsville  trail,"  said  Riley  Tyler, 
his  nose  flattened  against  the  window  pane.  "  Where 
do  you  suppose  he's  going?  " 

"  Going  to  i  spend  some  of  the  reward  money,  I 
expect.  Joke  on  you,  Riley,  having  to  dig  up  a  thou- 
sand plunks  you  haven't  got." 

"  I'd  rather  owe  it  to  him  than  cheat  him  out  of  it," 
grinned  Riley,  who  had  long  since  spent  the  money 
obtained  from  Jack  Murray.  "  Alia  same,  I'll  pay 
him  when  I  get  it.  You  lend  me  a  hundred,  Shotgun." 

"  Go  'way  from  me!"  snarled  Shotgun,  flapping 
both  hands  at  him.  "  If  you're  looking  for  easy  money, 
sit  into  a  game  of  draw,  or  rob  a  bank  or  somethin'. 
You  won't  get  a  single  wheel  from  me.  Nawsir!  " 

Billy,  riding  the  Hillsville  road,  came  at  last  to  the 
mouth  of  the  draw  that  led  to  Walton's.  He  stopped 
his  horse  and  looked  along  the  draw.  Then  he  looked 
along  the  road. 

"  Of  course,  I  was  going  to  Hillsville,"  he  lied  rapid- 
ly to  himself,  "  but  I  don't  suppose  it  would  hurt  to 
sort  of  ride  past  her  house.  Seems  to  me  I  heard 
somethin'  about  her  leaving  Prescott's.  It  may  not  be 
true,  and  then  again  —  Let's  go,  feller." 

Feller  headed  obediently  into  the  draw. 

Hazel  Walton,  sewing  in  the  front  room,  saw  a  rider 


390        The  Rider  of  Golden  Bar 

coming  up  the  draw.  '  That  looks  like  Bill's  horse," 
she  muttered.  "  And  Bill's  hat.  It  —  it  is  Bill." 

Her  heart  began  to  pound.  Her  throat  constricted. 
There  was  something  the  matter  with  her  knees.  She 
dropped  the  sewing  in  her  lap  and  clasped  her  hands 
together.  She  breathed  in  little  gasps. 

Billy  Wingo  came  on.  He  came  quite  close  —  with- 
in twenty  yards  and  stopped  his  horse  and  rested  his 
hands  on  the  saddle  horn,  and  looked  at  the  house. 
Just  looked. 

Although  she  knew  he  could  not  see  her  through  the 
scrim  curtains,  she  drew  her  chair  a  little  away  and  to 
one  side. 

He  pushed  back  his  hat  with  the  old  familiar  gesture. 
His  face  was  expressionless.  There  were  hollows 
under  his  eyes.  He  looked  thin.  Poor  boy.  He  had 
had  an  awfully  hard  time.  And  he  had  fought  for  her. 
He  had  risked  his  life  for  her.  Certainly  she  owed 
him  a  good  deal, —  everything,  in  fact.  And  here  she 
couldn't  even  find  sufficient  courage  to  thank  him.  As 
though  thanks,  empty  thanks,  could  possibly  be  ade- 
quate. Sally  Jane  was  right.  She  was  a  coward.  And 
proud.  Especially  proud.  She  shivered. 

Suddenly  Billy  pulled  his  hat  forward  and  picked  up 
his  reins.  She  saw  his  heel  move.  The  horse  began 
to  turn.  It  was  then  that  something  snapped  in  Hazel's 
breast.  Strength  came  to  her  shaking  knees.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  ran  to  the  door,  flung  it  open  and 
dashed  out.  Billy's  startled  horse  shied  away.  Billy 
dragged  him  back  with  a  jerk. 

Six  feet  from  the  horse  Hazel  stopped  and  stood 
very  straight,  her  arms  stiff  at  her  sides.  Her  knees 


The  Long  Day  Closes  391 

began  to  shake  again.  She  knew  that  her  voice  would 
tremble.  It  did.  "  Bill,  I  —  I've  changed  my  mind. 
I  was  wrong.  I  —  you  —  you  did  the  right  thing  to 
see  it  through.  If  —  if  you  hadn't,  I  don't  know  what 
would  have  become  of  me." 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  was  off  his  horse,  his  arms 
were  around  her,  and  she  knew  that  all  her  troubles 
were  over. 


THE  END 


Other  Book*  by  William  Patterson  White 


THE  OWNER  OF  THE 
LAZY  "D" 


Frontispiece.     12mo.     324  pages. 

"The  most  stirring  Wild  West  story  that  has  been  published 
for  many  a  year." —  The  Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"William  Patterson  White  .  .  .  knows  how  to  make  an  inter- 
esting tale." —  The  Oakland  Tribune. 

"All  kinds  of  excitement  are  assured." —  The  Cincinnati  Times- 
Star. 

"A  most  thrilling  story." —  The  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


LYNCH   LAWYERS 

Frontispiece.     12mo.     378  pages. 

"As  in  his  previous  novel,  'The  Owner  of  the  Lazy  D,'  Mr. 
White  shows  himself  to  be  a  master  in  the  field  of  the  Western 
adventure  story." — •  The  New  York  Tribune. 

"A  new  and  thrilling  story  of  Western  life." —  The  Rochester 
Herald. 

"The  author  knows  his  people  and  his  localities,  and  his  con- 
ception rings  true  to  life." —  The  Pittsburgh  Sun. 

"Mr.  White  shows  himself  a  master  of  the  art  of  dialogue  in 
the  Western  vernacular." —  The  Boston  Transcript. 


LITTLE,   BROWN   &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET  BOSTON 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


OOm-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 


YB  68909 


